The Definition of Insanity
by Dizzy3
Summary: In the months before Draco's initiation into the inner sanctum of Voldemort he seeks redemption in the arms of a girl who might just be able to save him. AN: No Real Blatant sex. Rating for safety. Complete revamp, with a NEW CHAPTER 3 years later
1. BroomCloset Indulgences

The Definition of Insanity

Chapter One: Broom-Closet Indulgences and Lamentations

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

They could both pinpoint to the minute when it had all started. The torrid "affair" that consumed their nights and made their days drag in that slow monotony. It was different for both, but strikingly similar in nature. It was insane and lovely all at the same time. It was simple and complicated. It was a bundle of contradictions. The list was endless about what exactly "it" was. And somehow they couldn't explain it. Not to themselves or to their friends. So they didn't. They just let it happen. Just let things play out as they were.

For Hermione it had been a serious of rather out of character activities that led to the start of "it". Beginning with her waking up late, running about her room in a frenzy of frantic gathering, and mental check-listing that finally ended with a harried "Goodbye." and a peck on both of her parent's cheeks before she stepped through the entrance to the Hogwarts train platform.

Hermione Granger wasn't usually late. She had been prompt and efficient since the receiving of her first day planner, always on time since her first alarm clock, until THAT day. That day she had overslept. That day she had scrambled about her room for her uniform, throwing it on in a haphazard sort of fashion. That day she had snapped the elastic that usually held up the thick silky mass of material she called hair and she'd been in too much of a hurry to dig through her things for another. So she'd left it down, brushing it a few times in the car on the way to Kings Cross. Years of hair care training and frequent applications of various potions and serums had left it a mass of shining silk, with a slight bit of endearing frizz around its curls. Though no longer the bushy rat's nest of her youth it was still bothersome in its length and sheer volume, and while she had learned over the years to take a little time to maintain it, it was still a nuisance.

It was that day she'd almost missed the train to the one place on earth she could seriously call her haven that changed everything.

Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better if she HAD missed. If she'd just found some alternate mode of transportation. But in some ways she figured it was unavoidable. She had been bound to see him eventually, and the effect would be no different.

Hermione had barely had time for a hug and a peck on the cheek to both of her best friends, who gaped at her for a moment, laughing a bit at her frazzledness, and then a quick catch-up before the train had started moving. After that she was forced to hurry on to her first official meeting as Head Girl.

It was a heady feeling being Head Girl. A goal she had worked her entire academic life for. A goal that had taken many long nights of studying, many painful neck aches, and a loss of eyesight that forced her to wear the somewhat chic pink framed glasses perched on her nose, since her parents were against any sort of wizard eye correction. A goal that had been realized when the owl that had come on July 21 at exactly 2:35 midday declared that, yes, Hermione Granger, as expected, would in fact, be the newest Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She could still remember the tears on her face and the squeal of delight. She could still feel the hugs of pride from her parents and still taste the tiramisu from the celebratory dinner. And like the train ride she wondered if it would be better to not be in her position, if that would have changed anything. She doubted it.

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She had fairly sprinted down the slightly rocking corridors of the train to the compartment at the very end, her hair a swirling mass behind her. She had reached the compartment, face flushed, eyes twinkling, and her school uniform in apparent disarray and without the customary school robes. Not the best first impression but at least she was on time she reasoned pushing open the door.

It had been then. At that exact second. First day of term, on the Hogwarts Express, in that little tiny compartment, that her life had changed.

For there, standing just 5 feet from her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and the most loathed person in her entire mind. Draco Malfoy. The summer had changed him almost to the point of no recognition. The baby fat that had been ever present the year before had melted away leaving behind smooth slightly dented cheeks, aristocratic cheeks bones, and giving emphasis to the same cold, slightly startling silver eyes that had looked on her with utter contempt for so many years. He was still as pale as moonlight, his hair still silver blonde but now, rather than the somewhat pouffy, slicked back style of his youth; it was parted down the middle, falling about his ears and forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to push it back.

He had always been tall, a bit on the lanky side in years past but he was well over six feet now, and no longer lanky it seemed. Muscles that had never been there before graced his arms and chest, filling out broad shoulders and giving way to a wide chest. His arms were still skinny, and his legs the same, but it was a muscular leanness, like a feral tomcat.

Hermione felt her breath catch for a moment.

Unlike Hermione, Draco Malfoy had seen nothing extraordinary about that day. He had woken early, before the rising of the sun, and had lain there staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours before the cold hand of his mother rested on his forearm, her usual practice of waking him.

As per tradition he had given her the jerking nod, telling her he was awake. Then he had showered and dressed with the usual Draco Malfoy precision, no wrinkle allowed anywhere, not a crinkle in his pants, nothing but sleek smooth lines. He had arranged his things neatly beside the door for the House Elves to deal with and then had joined his mother for their silent, but customary breakfast.

Lucius was not there, as custom dictated. He had stopped his visits to the platform long ago, a rite of passage for young Draco into manhood.

And just like always he had sat in silence throughout the ride to the station to catch the train. His mother's only good-bye was the gentle, subtle squeezing of his hand as he stepped out of the coach, and his was only another jerky nod. He left his things in the carriage and boarded the train. Early as always.

So surely a day as ordinary and inconsequential should not have held such a surprise and life-changing event for him. Surely it was odd that such a thing had happened. But he didn't question it. Draco Malfoy had been raised to believe that everything that happened in life served a greater purpose that everything one did mattered in some way.

So when Hermione Granger had stepped into that compartment, and he had felt his stomach pull and his hands clench he knew it was for a reason. He just didn't know if it was a good one.

The light from the train of the window caught that glorious hair of hers, almost forming a halo of chestnut brown around her. That was not such a startling revelation as her hair had calmed bit by bit, year by year as adolescent hair tends to do. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips full and she was certainly not the mousy little runt of a girl that had shadowed the Boy Wonder and his peasant friend for all those years.

She was full-bodied and glorious to look at, still petite with her slim waist and hips and her somewhat compact breasts, her cheeks full, her lips alluring, her legs long and slender. He caught his breath. This was not the Hermione Granger he knew.

It had been such a simple meeting, an assessment of changes, a spark of surprised interest. But yet so complicated in nature, for these changes were not merely physical. The physical changes were expected, occurring slowly over time. It wasn't such a surprise that Hermione had finally matured so much. She had grown steadily prettier over the years. And Draco's leap into manhood was not a sudden one. It was not purely a physical attraction. But there was no word for it.

"What-" Hermione tried again, sucking in a breath. "What are you doing here?" Draco simply held up the badge that declared him Head Boy and shrugged, plopping onto the couch. And that had been that. So inconsequential, so normal, but it had changed everything.

The worst thing was not the lust, it was the tension. A tension that was purely sexual in nature. It was also the closeness.

Their bedrooms were a mere 12 feet away from each other, separated by a small two person common room only. Their conversations were forced, but pleasant, polite but strained. They avoided each other. At first.

She chose to seek refuge in the same place she always had, the library that had gotten her the position, the common room that she had once shared with her best friends, and now shared again, despite the fact that she had her own. One she didn't particularly want to share with HIM.

They couldn't say there was hate there anymore. They had somehow reached a silent truce of peace on the train with the lifting of that badge. They shouldered their responsibilities and their past at the same time and managed to somehow balance the two.

Draco had never really hated HER anyway. She had just been associated with too many bad things. Potter, Muggles, the Weasleys. Everything he had been taught in his life to loathe. The Boy Who Lived, the people who weren't pure, the people who weren't rich. She had been rude and obnoxious since they had met at age 11, but it was more in defense of her friends, of her heritage, and there was something in that to be respected. An honor he couldn't deny. He hadn't really hated her. Just everything she stood for, everything he was jealous of.

She HAD hated him, however. She thought him arrogant and more than a bit rude, he was, and all in all, a complete arse to both her and her friends and for years she had despised him. But Hermione had always been a quick one to change opinions about people, not so much about life views, but about people yes. She had always been tolerant of things most people weren't. Hagrid's being a half-giant for instance, the idea that House-Elves should be compensated for another. She had always looked at the person rather than the things they did. People were easily manipulated creatures and prone to acts of utter insanity that couldn't be explained, only forgiven. So it was just as easy for her to cast aside the years of ridicule, the number of infirmary visits and the hurt from his words as it was for him to decide she wasn't so bad after all. That was not where the complication lay. Not in hate turned to lust, not in years of feuding turned into nights of passion. The complication lay in the world around them and the views of others.

Insanity is by psychological terms defined as a deviation from the norms of a society. Insanity is defined as a chemical imbalance. And could lust not be qualified under these conditions?

And now they were mere months away from complete graduation from the place they had spent so much of their adolescence in. Months away from their destiny's.

And while they could pinpoint the day the change had taken place they couldn't for the life of them remember when it had started. Not that they much cared. That it HAD started was enough for them.

Hermione felt the gentle tug on her arm, the frenzied yank of her person into what she could only describe as a broom cupboard, where it was dark and smelled faintly of dust and the increasingly familiar scent of lemon and for some reason, roses. The first she knew was because of his love for candy of that flavor, which he kept secreted in a small box in the right pocket of his robes. The latter she really had no clue. But it was alluring nonetheless.

She opened her mouth to comment on his particularly romantic spot for a hallway tryst. But before she could his lips were on hers in a way that left no room for sarcastic jibes.

His kisses were hot and sweet at the same time, leaving her breathless, never failing to make her stomach flutter, the tug on her bellybutton increasing with every meeting of their lips, with ever harried kiss.

He murmured some unintelligible greeting, his lips finding hers again, his hands roaming over her stomach, caressing her sides for a moment under her shirt, thumbs brushing her navel. She shivered and pulled away a bit.

"Hello," was her shaky, breathless reply.

And then it started again. She felt her back pressed against the wall, his other hand in her hair, ruining the bun she had put it in just moments before. His other hand was snaking further up her shirt, calloused fingers brushing the small of her back, his thumb tracing the edge of her bra. He had such lovely fingers.

"I've missed this," he gasped, and then those lips were on her neck, sucking, biting, licking. She was running out of adjectives to describe it.

"The feeling is mutual," she said breathlessly, her hands finding their way to his face to pull him back up for another kiss. "But we can't do this here." She murmured against him, rubbing the inside of her leg against the outside of his a bit.

"Of course we can," He continued his assault, sending her into a lusty daze, her vision hazy, her glasses askew.

"No," she tried again. "We can't. Someone might hear us."

"There's no one here Hermione," she loved it when he said her name. It lilted off his lips, like a song to her ears, he dragged it out like no one she knew, making just her name itself sound like a lover's endearment. He didn't even realize he said it that way, it was a name he used only in private.

"That's not the ISSUE," Hermione felt her voice rise in pitch on the last word, coming out as a bit of a squeal, as his head dipped lower, tracing small wet kissed down her neck to her collar bone, his fingers moving languorously over her breasts. She moaned deep in the back of her throat.

"No Draco," she was almost panting now, rubbing her leg against his again. "I have to go to class."

"Bugger class," she could almost see his annoyed expression even in the pitch black of the room, but still he continued to slowly assault her senses, by bringing his head back up to nip playfully on her ear.

"You're learning more here," he whispered into it, before dipping his tongue just behind it. Hermione gave a little meek noise of pleasure, but resumed trying to push him away.

"I HAVE to go Draco," she gave him a demure little peck. "I'll see you tonight." She whispered.

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"Of course you will," he said as if it was perfectly obvious. As if she had no choice, and really, she didn't. She gave him another, resisting the urge to give into more. It was always like this when they parted. Draco wasn't as insecure as she was, but there was something he needed about their "relationship" for lack of a better word. Something he craved. It made a girl feel all tingly.

"Of course."

Like all days at Hogwarts since their initial tryst the time seemed to pass agonizingly slow. Minutes seemed hours, hours seemed endless and each ticking of the clock seemed to go slower than the last. During class they were the picture of innocence, snarling insults when the situation called for it, but their hearts weren't really in it anymore. In the halls they appeared to ignore each other, in the Great Hall they ate and laughed with their friends. On all fronts it appeared normal. They were becoming pro's at it. The lies, the deceit. There was a certain thrill to seeing each other. A certain exhilaration that came only with the knowledge that what they were doing was not allowed. And never would be.

It was only in the comforts on their tower they could be truthful again. It wasn't love, it was simply...release. Codependency. They each needed the other. If only for a little while.

So they counted the minutes. They edged further to the side of their seats closer to the door. They wolfed down meals. Spitting out excuses about tests, studying, and meetings with Dumbledore. Anything to get away.

It was a shock no one noticed them leaving in exactly 5 minute intervals.

That day it was Hermione who initiated it, almost choking on her meal, forcing conversation with Ron and Harry between bites, smiling at them as she stood.

"Sorry," she murmured apologetically. "Test tomorrow in Transfiguration. Did you guys study?"

They at least at the decency to be embarrassed, Ron turning a shade of red, Harry ducking his head. It was the best way to put them off, make them feel guilty. She shook her head in disapproval, feeling more than a little guilty herself, for lying to them.

"I'd suggest it." And she grabbed her bag, flouncing out of the Great Hall.

Exactly 4 minutes later Draco stood as well. Sighing exaggeratedly.

"Where are you going?" Pansy demanded, ever the vigilant stalker. He glared at her.

"If I wanted you to know I'm sure I would have told you." He wasn't much for excuses. He turned away from his fellow Slytherins and left the hall, arriving at their common room exactly 5 minutes after she had made her exit.

She was on him in an instant. Fingers tearing at the cloth that separated them, his cloak falling to the floor. There was nothing prim and proper about the Hermione he knew. The one who revealed herself only in secret, the one that belonged solely and utterly to him, just as everything he possessed did.

This Hermione had set her glasses on the end table beside the couch, tossed her books in her room and had already saved him the trouble of unbuttoning her blouse. This Hermione was well disguised in the other Hermione's almost knee length dull gray school skirt, and her crisp white blouse. But this Hermione was giving him a tempting glance at white lace underwear, her Gryffindor tie hanging sexily undone around her neck as her fingers struggled with his.

"It's been-" he kissed her, smirking.

"Hours," she finished breathlessly.

He bent his head and kissed her again, this time with meaning. There was no mistaking what it was. She didn't even nod, she simply began her fumbling with the tie again, stepping backwards further into the common room, bringing him with her by the neck. He almost sighed and reached up, batting her hands away as he undid the tie himself, her hands going to his robes, deciding they were far easier to deal with.

They were still meeting lips feverishly, drinking from each other, tasting the sweet intoxicants that lay just beyond full, slightly puffy lips.

"Your room or mine?" She breathed. Draco said nothing, merely angled her already walking backwards body towards his room, never pausing for a moment. They had little time before the Prefects meeting that night, and he wanted to savor it. Her fingers brushed his chest as she moved slowly down the buttons of his dress shirt, his robe lying forgotten on the cold stone floor just behind the couch she had steered him around. His tie had dropped forgotten onto the table beside her glasses, and her own shirt was tossed haphazardly over her armchair, her tie on the floor beside his robes. His lips went to her neck as they did a funny little backwards dance towards his room. She moaned low and husky.

"I waited all day," she murmured. He moved lower still, kissing the spot just between her breasts.

He shook his head, smirking. Every meeting went like this.

His lips went to her ear, her fingers raking up his chest, dancing lightly on the toned flesh there before pushing his shirt off his shoulders completely, where it landed in a pool of expensive silk just before the door. If he noticed he said nothing, just pushed her backwards against the door, grinding his hips against her for a moment as her right hand left his chest to fumble with the knob of the door, trying to balance on one leg as the other was wrapped around one of his.

His lips continued their assault on her senses, her eyes trying, it seemed, to roll completely back into her skull as she whimpered for more, arching against him as he dipped his head again and again. Finally, after what seemed like forever she finally managed to figure out the door handle, the door fell open, sending them stumbling into the room, his arms going around her waist to catch her before she fell. But he didn't pause for an instant. In these moments there were no distractions.

He half carried the girl to his bed, throwing her down upon it. Hermione giggled as his fingers traced small patterns on her stomach, the other hand worked on the front clasp of her skirt, just as her hands began to try and rid him of the confining and, now, somewhat uncomfortable slacks. He pulled back slightly from his kissing, her lips red and raw, her face flushed, her were eyes glassy from pleasure. His eyes met hers for a moment and then he kissed her. Severely, the passion still there but controlled now by something else entirely. Her hand went to his face, stroking the skin of his cheek for a moment, trying to take him all in, drinking from him as he kissed her. They had hours yet, but somehow it just didn't seem like enough. Though she wouldn't yet admit this to herself, she wanted forever.

Hermione waltzed into the old classroom that was used for prefects meetings, greeting the prefects with a nod, hoping she didn't look as flushed as she felt. Her hair was up in its usual haphazard bun, which usually was only haphazard because of a certain Slytherin who entered moments later, scowling as per usual before taking a seat at the front. He propped his booted feet onto a desk, and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the room. This was not unusual behavior for the boy and none of the occupants of the room had the decency to at least look a bit frightened, save for Neville Longbottom, an odd but satisfactory choice for prefect who would probably be scared of Malfoy if the boy presented him with flowers and heartfelt words of adoration. Ron gave her a grin from his seat which she returned. Hermione glared at Draco, if not a bit weakly before taking a seat beside him, pressing her fingers together before her.

It was moments like this that kept up the facade. Constant public hatred. They were both skilled at acting it seemed, for no one seemed the wiser. They had their meetings, they chatted with friends, they went to Hogsmeade and somehow managed to control themselves. Although it was times like this, with him sitting there glaring that glare that made her want to just dive on him and...Hermione cleared her throat, ready to begin the meeting. They always had later. Although the number of laters was decreasing rapidly.

The year was almost ending. It was mere months before graduation, before they left Hogwarts forever, and Hermione knew what awaited them beyond that. They had never discussed it, never even brought it up, but it was there, always.

Later that night, as she lay in his arms, Draco found himself unable to sleep. As he often did. Sleep was not a past-time he enjoyed. It was full of complications. When you slept you were vulnerable. Both internally and externally. So he usually didn't. Except for when she was there, but sometimes even should couldn't give him the rest he craved. Normally, when she was there sleep came easily. She grounded him, kept him away from the dark. She was all purity and softness She was conquest and possession. As he looked down at her he couldn't help but smile. What they shared was complicated. It wasn't quite love. But it wasn't quite hate either.

It was a mutual satisfaction of sexual desire. They both needed each other. For one purpose or another. They both used each other to achieve their means, and they felt no shame. Why should they? He ran his hand up her bare arm.

Draco needed her to keep away the dark. She was everything he had been taught to loathe. Everything he had hated with all his being. She was Muggle-born, a factor in itself that should have kept him away, she wasn't rich but she wasn't quite poor either. She was upper-middle class, but in his eyes it was only two steps above poverty. She was sweet and kind and utterly selfless, qualities that made a person weak. But she had something he needed. And he had something she needed. But most of all she was something forbidden. And that was probably the sweetest thing about it. Hermione was the ultimate rebellion.

She needed him for something else entirely. He wasn't forbidden to her. Potter and Weasley would be accepting enough after time. They loved her, they cherished her and for that he despised them. They had her in a way he would never and could never. Weasley especially. Weasley looked at her the same way Draco did. With unbridled lust, he leered at her and wanted to possess her just as Draco did. But he was a coward, and he always would be. Perhaps one day, after this was over he would have her, and Draco would be left with his life, but that day was not today, and it was not anytime in the near future. Weasley would have to wait. Potter had her in a way Draco couldn't even imagine. He was her friend, completely supportive and loving in everyway, and Draco would never be her friend. It was just one more thing to loathe Potter for. Draco hated to share.

But she needed him. She didn't need Potter and Weasley. She could live without them. He supposed she could live without him as well, and soon she would have to, just as he would have to live without her, but there would always be something missing, something changed. There were always new friends to have, new lovers to admire, but theirs was a unique situation. It wasn't hate. But it wasn't love either.

She needed him to help her. It was strange he knew but true. She seemed to have everything, good friends, perfect grades, a loving family, but she lacked something that only he could provide.

To the outside world Hermione was faultless. She made perfect marks and was hardly ever in trouble, and even when she was it was never, ever her fault. Her clothes were immaculate, prim and proper, tidy and neat, her skirts long, her blouses loose, her shoes utilitarian, and her robes shapeless and purposeful. She was smart and pretty but in a sexless kind of way. She was completely boring in other words.

Once, in the Potion's class they shared, he had gotten an idea of what exactly kept her from having someone besides him. It had been those two friends of hers, the girls Lavender and Parvati who had opened his eyes. They sat there giggling, as they were prone to do, their superior gazes on the girl hunched over her scroll, hastily copying notes from the board.

"If she ever had a sexual encounter it'd be for research only." The darker one, Parvati had remarked dryly.

"She'd probably take samples." the other one had said. And they had giggled. And he knew it was true. She was utterly asexual in nature. At least outside of here.

She needed him to break out of that stigma. To assure herself that she wasn't undesirable, to let herself know that she was indeed a woman, and that she was just the same as everyone else. He made her feel beautiful and desired and he gave her the intimacy and physical contact that she lacked everywhere else. No one would know of course. That was the nature of their relationship. But she would know, and that was all that concerned her in the end.

What they shared was something no one would really understand. Something they didn't understand.

Hermione stretched leisurely, thankful for the weekends. It was the only time she got to catch up with herself. She gravitated towards his warmth, sliding her leg against his. He stirred but barely, his arm dragging her closer in that unconscious way he had. She smiled against his chest. These were the only tender moments they shared. The only thing close to a real relationship they had. These few and sweet moments before and after the sex that consumed them. She cherished these moments.

Sometimes they talked. They talked about life and love in general. But never really about themselves. Sometimes they had the mundane, "How was your day?" "My day was great how was yours?" conversation. And sometimes they voiced complaints about fellow students and teachers that got on their nerves. But it never got personal. She didn't know about his family other than what she had seen. He didn't know about hers. They never talked about commitment or relationships, or even friendship. They never talked about the future. And they liked it that way. Ignorance was bliss. The not knowing was so much more interesting than the knowing.

This way she could speculate and mold him into what she wanted him to be. In her mind he was the tragic hero, abused and unloved for all his life and she was his savior. In her minds indulgences he loved her and she him and what they shared was so beautiful the two of them together stole the breath of those around them. What they shared provoked smiles and shared looks of "Aren't they in love." The fantasy was so much better in reality.

She wasn't in love with him. At times she loathed him. There were times when the emotions behind their fights were real. The sarcasm was true and the bribes were meant to hit home. But all was forgotten once they reached the four rooms they shared. It didn't matter what fight they had gotten into in the corridor before class. It didn't matter what foul names they called each other. Here it was forgotten, and replaced by memories that were forgotten outside of their space. She was living two lives it seemed.

In this one she was sexy and beautiful. In the other she was mousy and bookish.In this one she had a boy who kissed and held her, and she could pretend here that he wanted no one and nothing but her.

In the other she was alone and unwanted by all, regarded as a sexual pariah without feelings and totally without sexual desire. But she was love, loved for her mind and her friendship. In this one she was used.

She wasn't sure which one she preferred.

She stretched again, tracing one nailed finger down his bare chest, following the grooves of his abs, circling his navel. After a moment he caught her hand, and she looked up into those hard silver eyes and smiled.

"Good morning sleepy boy," she murmured, and leaned up to kiss him. His arm snaked around her, his hand in her hair. God he loved her hair. He loved the weight and silken feel of it. The way it moved across his body and wrapped around them. It was her best feature and it belonged to him. They both accepted this. She indulged him by keeping it up and in its tight secure bun all day, only letting it escape for him. Their kiss turned more serious and she felt his hand dip lower, across her back.

"Waking up with you is the best," she murmured. He nodded non-committal, and she began arranging herself across him. "And it's about to get better."

Ron and Harry were waiting for her when she reached the Great Hall that morning. They smiled in greeting, Ron offering her a small wave, scooting over slightly on the bench. She grinned at them and sauntered over, plopping happily down next to him.

"Good morning." They grinned at the chipper girl. She hadn't always been a morning person, but lately mornings seemed to be the best time for her. Usually she was antsy and on edge. They assumed it was the upcoming finals, the end of the school year, or possibly their graduation. It could be anything with Hermione.

"Coming to the game?" Ron, the keeper for the Gryffindor team asked through a mouth full of toast. She wrinkled her nose, lifting up his chin to close his mouth.

"Of course." She wasn't looking forward to it though. Slytherin versus Gryffindor. The matches she had come to dread. "But I know the outcome." She waved her hand dismissively. Harry was still grinning, this time knowingly. It was no secret that Gryffindor had a practically flawless record against their main rivals, and it was also no secret that Harry was a big factor in that. She wondered if it was starting to go to his head a bit. He had always been a fairly modest boy, shrugging at his fame and practically ignoring his fortune. He considered it a burden, and she had always admired that about him.

"You're our good luck charm," Ron grinned at her, flinging an arm over her shoulder and hugging her to his side. She laughed.

"Well, I have never missed a game since you both started playing...surely that has something to do with it." Sometimes though Hermione wasn't sure which side she was rooting for. Sometimes she just wanted Draco to have his moment in the sun.

"I think it'll be a long one tonight," Harry took a bite of his eggs. "Malfoy's getting better." As if on cue the two boys cast a disgusted look over to the Slytherin table where the boy in question was pushing his eggs around his plate. Ron turned back.

"We don't have to worry about him," he said angrily. "He's the worst seeker they've ever had." Hermione knew that wasn't true. What Draco lacked in Harry's natural talent he made up for in cunning and ruthlessness. His skill with a broom was less instinct and more honed.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione picked up a piece of toast, spreading strawberry jam on it. "Malfoy's a good seeker," at their look she forced a smile. "He's just not as good as Harry." The boys grinned again. Trying to get the topic off Draco, Hermione changed the subject.

"So, Double Potions today."

"Ugh." was Ron's reply.

"Double Ugh," was Harry's. They began to deconstruct the horrible character of the Potion's master, all thoughts of Draco banished, and she allowed herself to cast a look over at him for a moment. He was glaring at her, his own toast halfway to his mouth, his eyes on Ron's arm, which was still around her shoulder. She felt her heart swell, and than the guilt in the pit of her stomach. But she couldn't pick between the two. The thrill of his jealousy and her guilt over it were about equal. She left Ron's arm where it was.

Double Potions was possibly the worst thing about the long days at Hogwarts. Forced to sit in such close proximity to each other, not able to touch or even look was torture, a true test of their skill as liars. And they were very skilled.

Snape, the professor in charge of the horrendous period had it out for Hermione and her friends, but doted on Malfoy and his, taking points away from Gryffindor left and right, only to award them to his own house Slytherin. It was horribly biased and unfair, but that was the least of her worries. Snape was incredibly perceptive, and more than once he had cast a suspicious eye upon her and Draco, eyebrow raised, wondering. And wondering was never a good thing. Suspicion could get you in trouble, and both of them had too much to lose.

So she sat there, demure, taking her notes, trying to ignore the feel of him. Just being near him made the hair on her arm rise. It made her fingers itch to touch, and for the whole two periods, every time they had them, she would cross and uncross her legs over and over as some kind of displacement activity. The soft scratch of her cotton knee socks against each other was oddly comforting, and the click of her heels against each other distracted her from her thoughts.

Harry and Ron always noticed her tension during this period. They attributed it to her strive for perfection and Snape's utter disregard for her brilliance. More than once he had jeopardized her marks, taking off points and grading unfairly on what Ron called the Malfoy Curve. They did what they could: reassuring smiles, jokes, affectionate pats on the head or hand.

Today though, in an uncharacteristic show of boldness Ron had taken to rubbing her back. His feelings for the girl were no secret to anyone but her. She was completely oblivious it seemed, too caught up in grades and her pursuit of knowledge to notice. But everyone else knew. They looked upon him with sympathy, showered him with encouragement and more than once he had heard the phrase "Just GO for it Weasley." from his mates. But he usually kept things pretty platonic with an occasional hug or affectionate arm and hand holding. But today he was feeling confident, her acceptance of his arm at breakfast, which he had left there for as long as possible, until eating became too much of a chore with one hand, had further inspired him.

So when he heard her frustrated sigh as she leaned over her cauldron, looking at the bright green bubbling liquid with distaste, occasionally throwing in the ingredients they had chopped up so meticulously he couldn't help but try and comfort her. His hand went to her back, right at the small of it above her skirt. She smiled at him, a small, encouraging smile in his eyes, but in hers a smile of thanks, nothing more. He continued to rub her back, massaging the skin with his fingers.

"Just relax," he held up a small Gregorian mushroom, which she had clenched to a battered mess. "Innocent ingredients everywhere are suffering." She smiled again, and tossed in a little wolfsbane.

br

"It's just..." she sighed. "…this class is so frustrating." He nodded in understanding, giving her the hemlock with his free hand.

Across the room Draco angrily dumped a whole bottle of a red liquid into his own potion, turning it a deep ugly brown. It bubbled for a moment, a few bursting here and there. He then tossed a whole chunk of the wolfsbane before him in, the satisfying plop of it in the liquid doing nothing to curb his anger. Merlin he hated Weasley. He hated his hair and his freckles and his poverty. He hated his utter disregard for the line between purebloods and muggle-borns. Although lately for Draco that line had been so severely blurred it was practically nonexistent most of the time. But most of all he hated his closeness to her. Closeness they could share in public. Something Draco, a boy who had been taught at a young age that one could have anything if they tried hard enough, had enough money and power, could never ever have.

Snape looked between the two sides of the room. He looked at his favorite student, face flushed with rage, eyes hard and cold, glaring daggers at the side that held the other half of Snape's attention. The potion before the boy was ruined, but Snape wouldn't hold that against him. He never did. Why, he didn't know. His ties with the Dark Side were banished, for appearance purposes only. But still he felt a respect and kinship with the young Malfoy, a respect for the boy's father as well, and thus he treated him better.

The other half of his attention rested on another utterly disgusting pair Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Hermione herself was beautiful, she was intelligent, but he hated her with a passion born only of years of prejudice. Ron Weasley himself was an oafish idiot, and not worth Snape's time in the least. But Hermione had promise. She rarely made mistakes, and when she did they were not as horrible as he sometimes made them out to be.

He saw the Weasley boy's hand on the girl's back, rubbing small circles to ease her obvious tension, his face close to hers whispering sweet nothings and words of comfort into her ears. And he saw the anger on Draco's face as he watched it. The boy continued to toss ingredients in with a force that startled a few of the classmates surrounding him. Lavender and Parvati, who occupied the row in front of him, had moved as far forward as possible, to keep from getting splashed. There was something there, something he couldn't figure out, but he knew it wasn't good. He glared at the Granger girl. In his book whatever it was, it was just another reason to loathe her.

"You're going to the game." It wasn't a question, it was a request, or an order, she wasn't sure. Hermione nodded, sweeping her long hair up into its usual bun. She could see him behind her in the bathroom's large mirror.

"I suppose you're going to be rooting for them." Again it wasn't a question. She looked up. Her eyes catching his in the mirror.

"You don't know who I root for."

"But I know which side you sit on." She whirled, letting her hair fall about her shoulders and glared at him.

"What would you have me do? Just sit myself down on the Slytherin side? Oh hey guys, yeah, I decided I needed a change of scenery today." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Draco said nothing, but she could see his fingers clench on the towel around his waist. "I'm sure that'll go over real well." She began putting her hair up once more.

"Fine." His tone was clipped and angry, she saw his mirror image leave the bathroom and sighed. Sometimes he could be such a child. He knew, just as she knew that it was impossible. And it had always been enough, until today. He had never questioned where she would sit. There was an unspoken agreement that they would remain normal.

Hermione checked her appearance once more, grabbing her scarf. On her way out of the bathroom she wound it around her neck.

Draco was sitting there, dressed in his Quidditch robes, his broom in one hand, glaring at her from his armchair.

"I can't do that," she finally. "You know that."

"I know." He continued to glare at her. "But while you're rooting for Weasley know that you choose the losing side."

"Draco what do you expect?" She could feel her anger rising again. Today was a day of firsts it seemed. "What do you want me to do for you?"

"Nothing." He stood up. "I don't expect anything. And I don't think you should either. We're going to graduate together but after that there's nothing. We won't get married, we won't have children and we won't ever see each other again so you can banish all those thoughts out of your pretty little deluded head."

"So this means nothing to you," Hermione whispered, she felt her stomach roll. Draco made his way to the door, broom clenched with white knuckles.

"No. It doesn't mean nothing," he looked up at her, silver meeting hazel. "It just doesn't mean everything."

Beside her Ginny Weasley clutched her arm, bobbing up and down in excitement. It was cold out, and Hermione was grateful for the enthusiastic girl's warmth. But she could have done without the hysterics.

She could remember a time when she was the same way, squealing and gasping with the crowd of people around her, digging her nails into whatever she could reach. But now it was different. Now she didn't cheer, she didn't chant, she simply watched and frequently held breath, her eyes darting after them on the field.

She felt like cheering would be an act of betrayal. So she'd stopped. Her eyes flashed from Harry, to Ron, to Draco, checking all of them to make sure they were all okay.

When Harry and Draco both pulled out of a dive at almost the same exact second she did dig her nails into the girls arm, her breath catching in her throat.

When a bludger was sent too close for comfort towards Draco's head she gasped, but too low for the girl beside her to hear it.

She hated Quidditch. It was a stupid sport that took up too much daily conversation for her liking. It made her have to choose. And until then she hadn't wanted too.

Then came the moment of truth. Ginny clutched her arm as both Harry and Draco saw the snitch, dancing right below them in glittering gold and both dived. Hermione held her breath, closing her eyes.

She could hear the gasp and cheers of the crowd, feel Ginny's nails digging into her arm, but she couldn't bring herself to watch.

She knew it was over when she could feel the rumble of the stands and the deafening cheers around her. She opened her eyes, and let out a breath.

Harry stood on the field, grinning triumphantly, snitch in hand. Next to her Ginny leapt up and down shouting at him, even though there was no way the boy could hear her over the crowd.

Hermione's eyes immediately sought out Draco, he was further behind Harry, clutching his broom angrily in his hand, glaring at the boy. She bit her lip, wanting to go to him, wanting to comfort him. Ginny was pulling her down the stands towards the field, towards Harry. Towards Draco.

Hermione's eyes caught his and she offered him a look. It seemed to say "I wanted it to be you." And he understood. He nodded gruffly. She had wanted it to be him, it was the last chance he had for victory, and he had failed, going back to join his teammates on the other side of the field.

Hermione forced a smile at Harry, giving him a hug in congratulations, watching Draco over his shoulder the whole time.


	2. Slow

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" Her voice was shaky, nervous. She felt her back hit the cold stone of the wall, and tried to edge sideways, thankful for its support.

"No." He continued to advance in those lazy, stalker movements of his, his eyes dark with lust, his form tense. He looked ready to pounce.

"Not even a hello?" She said nervously, eyeing the door to her room. It was 20 feet away, all the way across the common room. And Draco was much, much faster then her.

"Hello." And then he sprang. Hermione shrieked in surprise as one of his hands caught both of hers, and held them above her head against the wall.

"How was your day?" She tried again desperately. He just looked at her. And his free hand began to slowly unbutton her blouse.

"Fine," his lips caught hers, his hand pushing her wrist harder against the wall, his other one expertly relieving her of her shirt in one fell movement. He had amazing hands. Hermione moaned against his mouth, all fear flying from her head as he kissed her. "And yours?" His lips went to her neck.

"It was-" Hermione let out a little squeak. "Great."

"Yeah I bet," he nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot in her ear, his hand moving towards her skirt, brushing the skin of her bare stomach. "Bet Weasley made it all better." Hermione pulled her head back against the wall. She glare at him as he continued to work on her skirt.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He ignored her, but the pressure on her wrists increased. Her skirt fell to her feet, pooling around her clunky shoes. "What is that supposed to mean?" She repeated, but he silenced her with his lips. His kiss hard and commanding, and as per usual she was powerless against it.

Just as she was getting into the kiss however he broke away, his eyes hard and full of lust staring into her own.

"No more words," he said slowly, and she nodded dumbly. He made no move towards either of their bedrooms, he didn't even take her to the couch, or his armchair, or her armchair for that matter. His free arm snaked around her, brushing against the small of her back.

His fingers played with the black fabric of her bra for a moment before he released it, and then brought his arm back around, removing one strap lazily. His lips went to her neck and Hermione arched against him. Slowly he removed the other strap, the bra joining her skirt on the floor. She idly kicked them both away, clad now only in her panties, shoes and knee highs. He reared back for a moment too smirk at her, and then his lips went into a different direction entirely, which was difficult as he still had her arms above her head. Hermione almost shrieked as his mouth found one of the most sensitive spots on her body, and she found herself tugging against his grip, wanting nothing more then to run her hands through the silky mess of blonde hair and keep him where he was. He moved to the other side and she struggled harder, squirming, delighted. She could feel him smile against her breast, his free hand at the bikini strap of her underwear. She let her hips rise to give him better access as he slid the fabric down her legs, and she kicked it away when it fell.

"That's better." He was wearing too many clothes she thought hazily as his mouth continued to move across her chest, coming up to place hot wet kisses against her collar bone. She tried again to free her wrists, but he wouldn't concede, merely continued to hold them firmly against the wall.

She felt exposed and vulnerable, but this was how he liked her, and she felt a little thrill in her stomach, fluttering happily. His free hand was going to his trousers now, releasing himself from their confines, and she bit her lip, arching against him once more. She was so close now. She needed him. She could feel the ache, the desperation, and she tried to free her wrists again to speed up the process, but he was having none of it. He was in control now. He was winning at something at least.

With his hand he lifted one of her legs, setting it around his waist, and she complied locking it around him. He switched hands then, the other one going to bind her wrists, and the newly freed one lifting her other leg. She locked both together at the ankles behind his back, practically begging him with her body to just get it over with. She raised her hips toward him.

And then all slowness and pretense was forgotten. He entered her roughly, banging her against the wall so hard her teeth clanked together. She saw stars for a moment.

Draco froze, looking down at the dazed girl. She smiled weakly up at him.

"Merlin, Draco, I think you loosened a couple of teeth," but she was fine as she rose her hips to meet his.

He smirked, his concern vanishing, and then he kissed her. And all thoughts of the day vanished from their minds as they lost themselves in each other.

Hermione had waited for damn near two hours when she finally decided to take a little initiative. The day had ended for both of them early that Friday, and still, two hours after their last class Draco hadn't shown up.

So she grabbed the cloak, figuring that he was probably on the Quidditch Pitch, venting his frustration over having lost again. Sometimes he did that. Practiced and practiced until she came and forced him to stop. And even then getting him to come down and stop the stupid broom drills was a trial.

She pulled the cloak around herself and swept out of the common room, fully intent on talking some sense into the obsessed boy.

When she got there however she was met with a different sight indeed.

Audrey Anderton was the newest addition to the Hogwarts staff, the first female Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher since Delores Umbridge. She was young, only around 27 or so, with short black hair, bright green eyes and a cheery yet sinister disposition which made her a favorite among even the most stuck-up students.

What Hermione liked beside about her was the fact that she was Muggle-born, in fact the only truly Muggle born teacher at Hogwarts in recent years, and more then that she brought more of the Muggle world to Hogwarts then even Hermione herself.

In fact, right at that moment the woman was smoking a cigarette, her hands trembling as she spoke to the man next to her, angry concern overtaking her usually pretty face.

Hermione crept closer, ducking under the bleachers, not wanting to eavesdrop, but finding it hard not to.

She was surprised to see the man in question was none other then Severus Snape, and from the looks of it they were on more then friendly terms. For the first time in her life Hermione could see a look other then utter loathing on his face. He looked guilty, desperate, his hand clutching the much younger woman's in a show of apologetic affection, or as much apologetic affection as one could muster through that scowl.

"I just don't see why you HAVE to go," the woman was saying. Professor Anderton's voice was usually soft and lilting, but now it was angry and more then a bit hard.

"I have to go," Snape was saying, looking at a loss. "I don't have a choice."

"Exactly," the woman took a drag on her cigarette, the smoke rising in soft wispy tendrils into the air. Obviously Draco wasn't here, which normally would have been Hermione's cue to leave, but curiosity over the welfare of the new teacher, and over the fact that the rumors about both Professors were, in fact true, made her stay right where she was.

"Quit being his puppet." Snape glared at the woman. Wrenching his hand away.

"You know perfectly well I don't do this for him," he said coldly. "I do it for Albus."

"And for that boy," whoever the boy was Hermione hoped he was far, far away, the edge she heard in the woman's voice was enough to make the girl cringe.

"And for the boy," Snape took her hand again. "If I could stay here...with you, you know I would." And Hermione heard more sincerity, reluctance, and more emotion in what came next then in all her seven years of Hogwarts with this man. "In an instant."

"You put yourself in danger," Professor Anderton said softly. "And for what? Some shattered sense of nobility? For forgiveness?" The woman took another drag on her cigarette, neither acknowledging his hand on hers, nor dismissing it. She was just sitting there. "You can't save that boy."

"But I can try," Snape stood up. "I see there is no point in arguing with you about this Audrey."

"Indeed." The woman took another drag, her voice cold, and Hermione knew that if she could see her face she would see the hardened expression of determination.

"I will return within two days," Snape said finally.

"Perhaps," the woman's tone was icy.

"I WILL return," Hermione almost cried out as Snape somewhat violently took her favorite professor's chin in his hand, gripping it tightly. Hermione shifted positions to see a bit better.

Professor Anderton merely looked at the man, neither flinching nor giving him the pleasure of a reaction. She merely brought her cigarette to her lips, took a drag, and after a few seconds of staring at him silently she expelled the smoke in his face.

"Sometimes," Snape was saying almost sadly, releasing her face, taking a step backwards down the bleachers. "I think you hate me."

"No," the woman said shaking her head. "You hate yourself. I merely hate what you do."

"Why?" Snape was almost pleading now. It was all very out of character for him, and Hermione couldn't help but be interested in the change.

"Because it's pointless. You endanger your life for a man simply because you want to repay him for a kindness he bestows on people far less deserving. You endanger your life to save a boy who cannot be saved, and does not wish to be saved." Snape turned away, and Hermione heard him start down the bleachers. She ducked further under them into the shadows as she saw his form walk away, towards the building. After a moment, and a few more drags on her cigarette Audrey Anderton spoke.

"You can come out now Miss Granger." Hermione gasped. "I am a bit more perceptive then some." The woman said. And Hermione grudgingly edge around the poles supporting the bleachers, out onto the pitch, and climbed up them towards the pretty woman who had earned so much of her respect and who had now lost it.

"Mister Malfoy is not here," Audrey said, she took another drag, her gaze directed far off in the distance. "That is why you came out here?" She looked to Hermione then, the girl blushed and ducked her head. "Like I said, more perceptive then some." The woman said gently.

"I'm sorry," Hermione offered after a moments silence. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"Lying will get you nowhere," the woman said smiling. "People don't accidentally eavesdrop. But I do not mind. I know you'll keep my secret safe." She stretched out a long robe clad leg. "And I yours, stay here, talk with me awhile. I've been meaning to meet with you." The woman took another drag on her cigarette, and held it up.

"Want one?" Hermione blushed again and shook her head. "Silly of me." The woman smiled again. "Of course you don't."

"What did you want to speak with me about?" Hermione asked.

"The only thing worthwhile going on in your life," when Hermione looked confused the woman smirked. "Mister Malfoy of course."

"He's not the only-" the woman held up a hand to silence her.

"Nonsense. He is the reason you get up in the morning." Hermione at least managed to look affronted, but the woman spoke the truth. Her trysts with Draco were all she had to look forward too in a world full of monotony. "Which is why you should break it off with him." She took another drag of her cigarette.

"Why?" Hermione glared at her professor.

"He will only hurt you," the woman gave a bitter snort. "Death Eaters are remarkable at doing that." Hermione stood up.

"I don't see how your relationship with Professor Snape has anything to do with-" Audrey looked up at the girl, usually so smart in everything else and looked at her with pity.

"Surely you see the similarities?" Audrey said softly, tossing her cigarette to the ground. Hermione simply stood there, waiting. "Snape is not good for me. And Draco's entering a time in his life that you simply can't be apart of."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well," Audrey paused, taking out her pack of cigarettes and drawing out another one. "I'm sure this breaks the student-teacher code in one way or another, but you WERE eavesdropping so I guess you have a right to know, being the boy's lover and all." Hermione had a sinking suspicion the boy Snape and this woman had been referring to earlier was Draco. And she was right. "Draco is on the eve of the greatest accomplishment of his young life." The woman said this sarcastically and snorted again, lighting another cigarette. And with it still dangling from her mouth she said. "We have such high hopes for him." There was so much sarcasm and bitterness in her voice it was unnerving, she blew out a puff of smoke, it swirled into the sky.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked slowly.

"I suppose he didn't tell you," the comment was more to Audrey's self then anything. "Why would he?" She shook her head, taking another drag. "School ends in two months." Audrey went on. "And Draco will not be at graduation."

"Why not?" Audrey blinked, and regarded Hermione as if she were one of the stupidest creatures on earth.

"Didn't you know?" Audrey's voice was mockingly superior. "Graduation night is the night of the Blood Moon," Audrey took a drag on her cigarette, and Hermione could see all the months of bitterness being with Snape had brought her, it twisted her usually beautiful face, making it ugly with its anger. "That's the night your little lover-boy joins the fold. And Severus, stupid fool that he is, is going to get himself killed trying to stop it. You can't save him, can't change him. Believe me, I've tried."

Hermione couldn't breath. There was no mistaking the implication. She had seen it coming of course. Draco never mentioned it, but she knew. She knew just as everyone else knew. But knowing their time was so short, a mere two months, was a blow to her heart.

"How-" Hermione swallowed, willing her voice to be even. Willing herself to not burst into tears. "How can he stop it?"

"He can't," Audrey took another drag on her cigarette. "No one can."

That night, it was Hermione who changed.

Draco smirked dangerously when he saw her sitting on the couch, book in hand, no light but the fire in the hearth that flickered and danced across her features. She didn't look up when he entered, so absorbed was she in her book. She had once commented that Draco stalked, he did not walk. Which was true, he was a silent person by nature, while his insults were loud, he walked as though he were partaking in some secret spy mission.

So, taking advantage of her lack of concentration he crept closer, smoothly navigating around the large couch, ducking low to avoid detection in the dim light. And then he sprang.

He wrapped his cold hands around her eyes, laughing at the shriek the girl in question emitted.

"MALFOY," she wrenched away from him. "Your hands are freezing." Smirking wickedly the boy advanced on her. Hermione leapt from the couch. And instead of backing away like she usually did when he did the predatory dance she merely stood there, waiting for him to reach her.

Draco pulled her into his arms, his kisses hot and persistent, but Hermione pushed him away, a hand on his face.

"Slow," Hermione said softly, and kissed him sweetly, chastely on his lips. "Go slow." Confused he looked down at her. Obviously he was going to be no help. Hermione placed a hand on his chest.

"Let me show you," she pushed him backwards, and he complied, watching her every move. He liked it when she was in command, he liked it better when he was, but there was something so wonderfully sexy about a girl in charge. She pushed him backwards towards her room, a place they rarely visited on their little escapades.

"What did you have in mind?" He drawled, sexy dominatrix sequences playing in his head. Hermione simply gave him another of those innocent little kisses. When he tried to deepen it, tried to take more she merely moved away.

"You're missing the point," she whispered, and then her hands were on his face, her fingers splayed across his cheeks.

"What point?" His voice cracked, and for a second he felt embarrassed. This was so utterly different then anything they usually did.

"I don't know yet," she admitted, and her thumb made a path across the aristocratic cheekbones that had fascinated her for so long. Draco couldn't move, he could only watch her as her fingers traced a path across his face, her thumb brushing his lip and then moving upwards against his cheek. His face was hard granite planes, and smooth stone. She stood up on her tiptoes giving him another pristine kiss on the lips. Her hands slipped back down, one gently undoing the clasp on his cloak.

Draco reached to button her shirt, close to ripping the cloth but her small hands on his stopped him.

"Slow," she whispered and guided his hand to one button. Trying his best to comply he tried his hardest to curb his enthusiasm. One button at a time, languorously slow. Hermione's hands had removed the cloak, and it fell against the bed forgotten.

"Slow," she whispered again, and then she moved to his shirt. He mimicked her actions, moving from one button to another, eyes locked with hers. When he removed her shirt she removed his, her hand dancing a bit across his bare chest. Draco tried again to make it go a bit faster, close to rage as she stopped him again with a gentle hand on his. She led him back to the bed, giving him another of her sweet kisses, but taking it no further then the barest touch of lips before she pulled away again, sliding her hands down his chest slowly, with just the barest hint of pressure. It was like being stroked with a very firm feather he thought dumbly as she pushed him down onto the bed into a sitting position. Draco's hands went to her hips, trying to slide her skirt down, or raise it up, whichever was fastest, but she ignored him, continuing to run her hands across the length of his chest, across his neck to his face.

His eyes locked with hers once more trying to show her his frustration, and before he could say anything she leaned in, her breath hot against his ear.

"Slow Draco." He was completely at a loss. They had never taken it slow before. It had always been a frenzy of passion with them, ripping of clothes, sometimes not even removing them, but tonight was different.

"I-" he sputtered. "I don't think I know how." This omission was harder then he realized, and left him even angrier as he waited for her response. But instead of laughing at him as countless other women in the world would have done, she merely nodded seriously, and leaned in.

"Then I'll teach you," it was a first in their "relationship" Hermione teaching HIM something about sex. But it was a truth. Draco had never, in all his experience done the slow thing. He was all furious passion and wanton temptation. Always. He didn't know how to be anything else. But apparently she was going to show him. It was almost amusingly intriguing. Hermione slid onto his lap again, every movement utterly relaxing to watch, she was all grace and fluidity. He scooted a bit further back on the bed, letting he knees rest on the mattress on either side of him. Their eyes locked for a moment and Hermione smiled. And then she kissed him, it was tortuous this kiss, so sweet and full of promise, gentle stroking and exploration. The first real kiss they'd ever shared. Her hands were around his neck, one tangled in the soft hair at his nape, and she continued to kiss him.

It was rather like being a schoolboy on a date, just now rounding second base. He could feel the underside of her arm pressed against his shoulder, her chest against his. Slow was good it seemed. It was all sensation just like fast, but you were able to enjoy it more when it was slow. The kiss went on for what seemed like hours, they were just getting to know each other, the first simple kiss of a simple relationship. It was almost like pretend he realized. They were just a teenage couple snogging in a bedroom. Like so many countless other's that went to this school.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, of wondering Hermione pulled away, smiling softly at the boy, who looked more then a bit dazed. She splayed her palm across his cheek again, her eyes locked with his. Draco could barely breath at the beauty of it all, could barely think with his girl sitting across his lap, appearing so innocent, so wonderfully gorgeous. Slowly she pushed him back against the mattress, he hand going up to her hair, letting it loose from the confine of her standard bun. It fell, in luxurious waves all around them and she shook it a bit, tickling the skin of his chest. She continued to sit up, him laying beneath her, and leaned she leaned down and kissed him again, and he lifted his head up to fully appreciate it. But she pulled away, sliding down the length of his body. Draco closed his eyes, her hair slid down his chest like silk, and he felt like he would explode if they didn't start this soon. It was torture, exquisite torture, but torture just the same. He licked his lips as she continued her descent down, teasing him with her hair, that wonderful hair he couldn't get enough of, and then she was at his waist. Her small delicate hands unbuckled the belt grazing the area just below his bellybutton.

"Slow is wonderful," Draco murmured. Hermione's hand unbuttoned the pants he was wearing, although he barely noticed, his hands snaking down to stroke the mass of hair that blanketed him. Her hands continued downwards, relieving him of his zipper, and then she tugged gently on the waistband of his black slacks. He lifted his hips allowing her access and she slid the fabric down his legs, her hair gliding across his chest with every movement.

If there was a heaven he had already seen it, and it had something to do with this girl's hair. He damned every harsh comment he had ever made about it. It was glorious.

She was sliding up now, meeting him for another kiss. He tried once more to regain some of the fire of their previous encounters, but she managed to keep it so beautifully simple and chaste. He rolled her, so that he was on top, and then repeated her movements of earlier, sliding down her body, hands going for her skirt. He started to rush it again, fumbling with the clasp but her hands stopped him again. He looked up and almost laughed at the look on her face, it almost seemed to say "No, No. Bad Boy." And then he continued, slower this time, drawing out the process of removing the article of clothing that was causing him so much trouble.She smiled at him encouragingly, but stopped him just before he started on the removal of her knickers, her hand on the back of his neck drawing him back up her body to her lips. It was another of those amazing take your breath away kisses she was so good at, and for a few moments they lost themselves in it. Lips against lips, stroking and gently pulling with teeth, losing themselves.

"Now," she whispered against his ear, and arched her back against him, allowing him access to her bra. We have rounded third base he thought stupidly.

Her hands were at his waist, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his pants, and she slid them as far down as she could, using her feet the rest of the way. He kicked them off behind him, and relieved her of the same undergarments.

"Slow," Hermione repeated and Draco nodded solemnly.

"Slow," he whispered, and his hands traced a path up each one of her arms, ending their journey by lacing his fingers with hers, pushing her gently back against the pillow, her hair forming a halo around her. Fingers still laced with hers he placed one hand on the pillow, at each side of her head and slowly, just as she requested their dance began.

He concentrated on the stand of her hair, marveling at how silky and soft it was, how it shined in the light but her voice broke into his thoughts.

"Draco," he continued his movements, slow and languorous, almost teasing. Her breath was a gasp, her words breathless.

"Look at me." He ignored her, continuing. "Please look at me." His eyes snapped to hers. She held him there, caught in some kind of sexual force field. He could see so much emotion in them, they revealed so much. "Just keep looking at me." She whispered.

And he did.

Draco breathed in the scent of lavender and pumpkins, an odd but heady combination. It was sowarm here, so peaceful, and he buried himself in her mass of silk hair.

But the time would come when he would have to exchange this darkforbidden pleasure for another, and join in the ranks of those that came before him.

He pushed the thought away. The future has no place in the present he thought and closed hiseyes, pulling her even closer to him. She murmured long and low, stretching a bit in his arms.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Morning." He placed a kiss on her shoulder.

When they had first started their little "affair" they rarely stayed with each other. And an evenrarer occurrence was for it to be in her bedroom. Usually he preferred his dark black and green Slytherin-centric room to her bright gold and maroon.

Her room was a sanctuary. It smelled of her, and she was ever-present in it. From the stack ofbooks on her trunk, to the small glass globe that served as her alarm clock, the sweet sound of birds in place of the annoying beeps of the Muggle ones. Or the loud old codger voice of his own that yelled 'ARE YOU STILL SLEEPING YOU LAZY GIT?" every morning at precisely 6. Herarely infringed on her space. It felt wrong to be here usually, like he was an intruder in somesacred room.

"It's Saturday," Hermione said softly. Draco nodded against her shoulder.

"Astute observation, that," he drawled.

"There are no classes on Saturday," Hermione said.

"Another stroke of genius," he was smirking down at her now.

"Shut up," she turned in his arms, her lips just inches away from his, her brown eyes locked with his.

"Let's look at this situation," Draco pulled her a bit closer, his arms falling to the small of herback. "We have no classes, no obligations. No pesky friends banging down the door," he looked at her meaningfully. "Just how are we going to pass our day?"

"Well I," Hermione pushed away from him, stretching dramatically, giving him an enticingglance of her back. "Am going to take a bath." She grabbed the sheet, jerking it from him, andwrapping it around herself in a pointless show of modesty. As she made her way to the door she stopped, casting a glance over her shoulder at him. "Care to join me?" Draco didn't have to be asked twice.

The tub in the bathroom was for some reason not as large as the swimming pool style pool theprefect's bathroom. It was just bigger then the standard claw footed model found in bathroomseverywhere. Perhaps it was the fact that only two people would be using it, or perhaps theconfined quarters of the two Head's had been an issue before. But either way Draco was glad that it was not the size of a large pond.

She sat in front of him, between his legs, leaning back in pure pleasure as he worked. As she had always observed Draco had amazing, deftly skilled hands, and no where was that more present then now.

He massaged her scalp, working the girly smelling shampoo into a rich pink lather. Hermioneclosed her eyes.

"We should do something today," she murmured.

Draco froze, his hands till buried in a wet, lathered layer of hair.

"What?"

"We should do something today," Hermione repeated, opening her eyes. She turned her head to look at him. The expression on his face was one of pure shock, his eyes hard. "What?"

"You've-" Draco shook his head, lifting himself up out of the tub. "You've never suggestedanything like that before."

Hermione watched him reach for a towel, her face confused. Little bits of pink and blue soapwere running down his legs, and his face had switched from shock to complete stone once more.

"I'm suggesting it now." Draco ignored her, wrapping the white towel around his waist.Hermione sighed, slumping into the tub. "I guess that's a no."

"What do you want me to say?" Draco glared at her in the mirror, she turned, looking at the soap covered water; some of it had started to melt, turning the water a murky swirl of blue, pink and white.

"You don't have to say anything," her voice was cool.

"Good." She heard the door click closed behind him.

Severus Snape had tossed aside his ties to the Dark side long before he had known Draco Malfoy as a student.

But the years had given him a fatherly compassion for the boy that far surpassed the kindexhibited by his actual father. This was why he was here.

Across the table, the boy's real father, Lucius Malfoy gave him a small, somewhat sarcastic smirk, reaching for the bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey.

"I understand why you're here," Lucius said, his voice was soft; the barest hint of a warning was there. "But I can assure you it has no bearing on my plans for Draco." Snape said nothing, merely accepted the small crystalline glass.

"Draco has been born to a life of privilege," Lucius went on, pouring himself a glass of thesame. He took a sip, and then continued. "And as such, I have taken every effort possible toensure that he is afforded every luxury."

"Lucius-," Snape set the glass on the desk, his expression grim. "-if you go through with this,especially now..." he trailed off, leaning back in his chair. Lucius gave a small shrug.

"It is a risk I am willing to take," Lucius said. He took another sip, putting a foot on his knee."There are always consequences."

"Did you ask Draco if this is what he wants?"

Lucius let out a laugh.

"What Draco wants is of no concern to me," he was practically snorting. "He's 17 years old, heknows nothing of wants. One day, he will thank me for this."

"Will that be before or after he's driven crazy in Azkaban?" Snape stood up, his face twistedwith more anger then ever before. "You're making a mistake. The boy is too much of a public figure."

Lucius looked up at the man he still considered a friend, despite his bad choices. His face washard, utterly unmoved by his words.

"I never make mistakes," Lucius said softly. His cold blue eyes bore into Severus's. "There willcome a time when you realize this."

Lucius drained the glass, setting it with a hard clink of the desk and then stood up. He held out a hand, that Severus didn't take. If it bothered him he didn't let on, merely gave Snape aconciliatory grin.

"I appreciate your concern Severus, really. Draco will be fine," if he had been a crass man hewould have winked. "Believe me on that account."

Snape knew there was no getting through to this man. But he had tried, and that was all thatmattered and at great personal risk. Lucius could have summoned a dozen men to kill him on a whim. It was up to Draco now. He gave a final parting nod. His feet made their way to thedoor, and he hoped that Draco would do the right thing.

Hogsmeade had lost a bit of its luster sometime after 4th year. The shops were all the same,their contents changing little as the years passed, and to go was no longer the privilege it had once been.

There was a different kind of magic there now, the kind that was found only in outings with friends; which was why Hermione found herself in the Three Broomsticks, sipping her usual pint of ButterBeer, trying to be cheerful, which wasn't hard anymore.

It had started out hard. Their conversation had weighed heavy on her mind during the wholecarriage ride to the tiny town. It had left her silent, mulling over her own thoughts. Harry andRon had cast worried glances at her, venturing occasionally to ask what was wrong. Theirinquiries had been met with a terse "Nothing at all" and a flash of a strained smile. So they had ventured no further.

But now she was better. It had taken a few handfuls of various candies from Honeydukes, and good natured pranks at Zonko's to bring her back to earth. And now she was almost normal,Draco pushed back into the far reaches of her mind.

It had been a nice day. Not the one she had dreamt of, but one good enough to make up for that. Harry and Ron, sensing her mood, had been very attentive. They kept conversation as muchaway from Quidditch and other boyish things as possible, trying their hardest to discuss thingsshe'd be interested in.

They tickled her, and mussed her hair, forcing her to redo her bun at least four times. The only awkward moment of the day had been during the third time when Ron had asked, exasperated, why she didn't simply leave it down. Then her thoughts had immediately flown to the reason, and for a few moments she had been tempted to do just that. To hell with Draco and his wonderful fascination with her hair, the fascination that left her tingling. But she had redone the bun, her hands trembling.

And now her day was winding down, and she was filled with a different kind of warmth. Not the burning of passion, or the fire of lust. But that warm, night by the fire type, heat of friendship.

Ron's arm was draped across her shoulder, his other hand gesturing animatedly as he told aparticularly amusing tale about his father and an incident at work involving a monkey. A monkey which had been transfigured from an old hat by Fred and George and sent in a rather small, hole filled box. This had been during his summer internship at the Ministry, an internship that had been some of the most boring months of his life apparently, except for a few shining moments.

This was one of them.

Ron was just getting into the part where the monkey had sent his fathers meticulously orderedpapers flying about the room, all while managing to fling several noxious substances with them, when he walked in.

She steeled herself, all the hair on her arms rising to attention, her breath catching in her throat. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep her eyes on her Butterbeer, to force a laugh when she saw Harry's face do the same. She couldn't hear Ron anymore, despite the fact that his lips were barely a foot from her ear, and his story was told with exuberance.

Her eyes drifted up again, and locked with his. She tore them away, forcing herself to give Ron a smile. But she could still feel him.

Draco entered the pub alone, his thin cloak, perfect for the light spring temperatures, swirledabout his boots, and his cheeks were tinted red from the wind. There was a raucous yell from the Slytherin table when he entered, a squeal of delight from Pansy Parkinson at the sight of him.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him jerk his eyes away from her, and start towards the

Slytherin's table. She calmed a bit, it was easier when he wasn't looking at her. But she couldstill feel her stomach twisting at his presence.

"It was at least two hours before we caught him," Ron finished with a chuckle, his arm tuggedher closer. She gave a giggle, not because she found the story particularly amusing, because she really hadn't been listening, but because it seemed like the right action to take. Ron's widening grin confirmed that, he looked pleased with himself.

"Oh!" Harry reached into his robes, pulling out two envelopes. "We all got these this morning. I grabbed yours since you weren't at breakfast." He handed both Ron and Hermione one.

It was a simple plain cream envelope, her name printed in uniform handwriting. Ron had one of the same. Harry winked at them.

"Don't read them now," he said. "Not here." He looked around, giving them both a little wink.

"You'd probably cause a scene." Confused they both nodded, stuffing their envelopes into theinner pockets of their robes.

"Come on Hermione," Ron moved his arm, using it instead to grab her hand and tug her up.

"Where are we going?" She turned her confused look to him.

"Just for a walk," he grinned. Harry gave another wink, one she wasn't supposed to catch,towards Ron and made a horribly bad show of yawning.

"Well I'm a bit tired myself," he yawned again, actually reaching up to pat his mouth. "I'll seeyou guys tomorrow, alright?" Hermione nodded, giving him a brief, one armed hug as hedeparted.

"Come on," Ron gave a tug of her hand, and she found herself being led out of the pub. Her eyes caught Draco's and she felt a surge of triumph when she saw his face. It was twisted in anger, his silver eyes flashing as she passed. To his friends it just looked like hatred, and the few that noted his expression started sneering at them as well as they passed. Hermione knew it wasn't hatred, at least not for her. It was jealousy, and she couldn't help but be a little joyous, wrong as that was. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. She was sure of that.

The walk back to Hogwarts was fairly uneventful. The night was clear, the moon casting somuch light it was almost daytime outside, dimming the stars. But it was nice, the wind wasrefreshing, carrying the scent of spring, and she smiled. The tension had eased from hershoulders, the fluttering leaving her stomach now that they were out of the pub away fromDraco.

She wasn't sure which way Harry had gone, there were many routes to take, and Ron himselfhad chosen a more scenic trip. It was nice, walking with Ron, spending some quality time withhim. His hand clutched her own, and it was reassuring. They walked in silence, and the whole time she could see Ron casting her little glances, steeling himself for something.

Hermione was a smart girl. She was almost certain she knew what that something was, and she was dreading it. Luckily though it never came. Ron was not a courageous boy, and apparently he hadn't steeled himself enough.

They reached the castle without incident, and Hermione was grateful. Ron, being the gentlemen he was, walked her all the way to her portrait, stopping in front of her, releasing her hand. She looked at him, half in dread, and half in curiosity. He opened his mouth once, and then snapped it closed.

"What is it?" She whispered. He shook his head.

"Nothing." He leaned down, his lips pressing against her cheek. His lips were soft, notunpleasant, lingering there for a moment, but they weren't Draco's. She smiled up at him,confusion taking hold of her brain.

"See you at breakfast then?" She asked. He nodded, looking troubled, and then backed away. His eyes were still on hers.

"Yeah, at breakfast." She grinned again and gave a little wave, not sure of what else to do. Heturned away, still looking a bit peeved, with himself or her, she wasn't sure. She watched himmake his way down the hall, and then turned back to the door. She was still confused. Over her feelings for Ron, over his failed intentions, whatever they might have been. Over Draco.

"Aww, wasn't that just the sweetest?" Draco's voice startled her, her hand going to her mouth as she gasped. His tone was dull, woven with anger.

"Temptation," he snapped the password, and the portrait swung open, almost hitting her. She leapt away, and watched him make his way inside; she followed him before the portrait swung closed again.

His shoulders were tense, and his strides were jerky. He was in a mood.

"Have a nice time?" Then there was his voice, sickly sweet, but dangerous. His eyes bore intoher.

"Yes." She swallowed. There was no reason to be scared of Draco. Not anymore she told herself. He was different now. At least to her. He wouldn't hurt her. She wouldn't let him.

"That's good," he flashed her a smile, his canine teeth prominent.

"I'm..." she swallowed again."Sorry about this morning."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"What are you sorry for?" His voice was still tinged with that horrible sweetness, it rang in herears and Hermione felt herself edging towards her room.

"For-" what was she sorry for? She wasn't sure. Suggesting an impossibility? Asking him to dosomething he couldn't possibly do? She couldn't bring herself to say either of those, they didn't sound right.

"Yes? Do spit it out," he said. She grimaced. He was sarcastic sure, but that was just who he was, but he was never hurtful, and his sarcasm was hardly ever directed towards her, not in many months.

"Nothing," she snapped. "I'm not sorry for anything." Her anger overtook her fear with that one sentence, and her eyes flashed. Draco was almost grinning now.

"Wonderful," he said. "Apology accepted. I'm glad you're sorry for nothing. Now with that offyour chest, I think I'll go to bed." And he turned, making his way to his room.

Her anger faded, replaced now by hurt. He hadn't asked her to join him. It had been monthssince they hadn't enjoyed each other's company. They always spent thenights together. But he hadn't invited her, hadn't beckoned her to come with that enticing grin, hadn't put his hand on the small of her back to propel her towards his room.

He closed the door, softly, but with force.

Hermione could do nothing more then just stare at it dully. A stupid, needy part of her braincrying out to him, trying to send him silent messages. Forgive me, it was screaming. Come get me, it cried. Love me, it whispered.

Hermione turned away, making her way to her chair. She was strangely numb. They didn't fight, not really, not here. This was the first real fight ever, and it didn't leave her shaking with rage. It didn't leave her sobbing. It left her numb.

She sat down, the crackling fire the only thing breaking the silence.

She lifted her hand, putting it into her robes, drawing out the plain envelope Harry had given her just an hour or so before. Perhaps, it would make her feel better.

She didn't bother finding a letter opener, she rarely did. They were dull useless decorative items.

Her nail slipped under the fold, and she eased the envelope open, tearing it the seams.

The letter was plain, a familiar seal as the letter head. Hermione's heart picked up in beat. Sheknew what this was.

Her eyes flew over the page. Taking in her name, the formal, somewhat personalized script, and the words on the page. Her heart skipped a beat.

The numbness was replaced by excitement, all thoughts of Draco flying from her mind. Shehad got in.

It seemed like years ago when she had applied to the very elite, very prestigious Auror training academy, headed by none other then Thomas McCairn, one of the most influential Auror's next to Alastor Moody.

His advice, whether given by Barty Junior or not, had stuck with her through her years atHogwarts. It had turned into a passion, one shared by both Harry and Ron. And now her dream, one of the few she allowed herself, had come true. She had been accepted, and enthusiastically so. It was a personal letter from Thomas McCarin himself, sending his congratulations and delight over her acceptance.

BR

She felt the letter drop from her fingers, floating to the floor, and she let out a tiny squeal ofexcitement. She knew, without a doubt that Harry and Ron had been accepted as well. Harry, for both his notable hero status and his cleverness, and Ron for his family connection with the Ministry not to mention his rather subdued cleverness as well. It helped that both Ron and Hermione were such good friends of Harry Potter's too, surely that had some bearing.

Not to mention the recommendations of bother Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore, bothsending their highest regards. She was going to be an Auror. She leapt from her chair.

She had to see Harry and Ron, now. No one else would appreciate her excitement. Not evenDraco. Her eyes cast a final glance at the door and she sighed, pushing all thoughts of him, and today out of her mind.

She was going to be an Auror, and she was going to do it with her best friends at her side.

Just as it should be.

.


	3. The Tempest

Something shattered the last remnants of her dream, pushing it back into the far reaches ofher mind, lost forever. One moment she was warm, wrapped in the glow of whatever events had taken place in her dream, and the next she was cold, wrapped in nothing more then thecomforter on her bed.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and then she knew what had awoken her. Sitting up she wasn't surprised to see his form, delicate and beautiful, bathed in moonlight in the chair by her bed.

Still, she pulled the covers up around her frame, in a futile gesture of modesty. There was nomodesty when it came to Draco. He had seen her too many times to count, and could imagine the curves of her body at the slightest whim he knew them so well.

He looked completely at ease, sitting casually with one booted foot propped on his knee. Hiseyebrow raised, his smirk in place, he looked just as he always did, but colder now, harder.Hermione clutched the covers closer.

He had awoken her many times like this in past. The silver of his eyes seemed able to rouse her from even the deepest sleep. Usually however the gaze was that of a lover, but now it was freezing, raking over her.

"Good morning." Draco's foot dropped from his knee, and he leaned forward. She gave him aweak smile in return.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"I wanted to apologize for last night," Draco said, his voice seemed sincere, but his face was not.

It hadn't changed, still hard granite planes.

"Alright," Hermione nodded, she released her hold on the blanket a bit.

"I had no right," Draco went on. Hermione nodded again.

"I understand," her voice was soft. "Well, I don't, not completely."

Draco stood up, and in one quick stride had crossed the short distance from the chair to her bed, perching on the end of it.

"I don't think I do either," he said, lowering his voice to same soft whisper of hers. His face

was still impassive, but that was Draco being Draco. "But I think I'm beginning to."

His hand reached up, tilting her face up by the chin, and lowered his head. The kiss was sweet, his lips moving across hers, slowly, his apology in his kiss rather then his demeanor.

Hermione's eyes fell closed, and the blanket fell away, it's purpose forgotten. All the warmth, all the protection she need was right here, in his kiss.

It was perhaps, the strangest and happiest day of Hermione's life. As if he was making up foryesterday, and all the yesterdays before it, Draco never left her side.

He brought her breakfast in bed, or rather, commissioned a house-elf to do the like. Hot cakes, and scrambled eggs, strawberries in cream, orange juice and bacon, presented on a tray of cherry wood, with a small rose placed above the fare.

"I thought-" Draco leaned against her headboard, his fingers skillfully snatching food from hertray. "That we could stay in today." Hermione smacked his fingers away as he made for the last bit of bacon.

"I'd like that," she smiled at him, popping the piece into her own mouth.

"One would hope so," he said as she smacked his hand away again. There wasstill a tension there, but with every gesture, every word, every look of pure lust it was fading.There was something hovering though, just out of grasp, and Hermione didn't want to find outwhat it was. But it would make its presence known. So she savored the moments she had.

"What should we do?" she asked. Hermione relaxed a bit further, settling into the bed, her legbrushing his as they ate.

"I hadn't thought it through that far," Draco admitted. He permitted himself a bite of herpancakes, smothered in butter, floating in syrup. Hermione thought a moment. What could they do? There wasn't much in the way of indoor enjoyment at Hogwarts its completely magical nature prevented the usual distractions. There was no television her, no video games, and while there were the usual wizarding games they just weren't something Hermione enjoyed, and she knew Draco didn't either. "But I know what I'd like to do." Draco leered at her and leaned towards her, his lips brushing hers. Hermione smiled, almost giving into the girlish impulse to giggle.

"That's all we ever do," she pointed out. Draco's lips brushed hers again, the barest hint ofpressure.

"It's worked so far," he whispered. Hermione smiled wider.

"I don't think it'd occupy us for very long," Hermione laughed at his offended expression. "I didn't mean it THAT way," she kissed him. "I just meant that if you mean to occupy ourselves in...that way-" she blushed a bit here, "-all day I seriously doubt we'd be able to walk tomorrow." Draco filched a strawberry.

"Would that be so bad?" he murmured. Hermione shook her head.

"Ahh, but then there's the needed explanation as to why we can't make it to our classes,"Hermione reasoned. "Good luck explaining that one."

"An excellent point," Draco conceded. Hermione plucked the fork from his hands, starting onthe pancakes.

"So, what do we do?" Hermione asked.

"I'll be back in a few moments," he stood.

"Where are you going?" She looked up startled, fearing for a moment that he didn't intend tospend the day with her after all.

"To get supplies," and then the door closed behind him.

It wasn't a few moments in fact it was closer to an hour. In that time she had managed to shower and dress, her stomach twisting with anxiety with each passing minute. Draco rarely made promises, and when he did he never broke them. But now she wasn't so sure. There was something off about his behavior, something she couldn't put her finger on.

It wasn't until the portrait swung open, and he strode in with that Malfoy confident air, that she finally calmed down.

Slung over his shoulder, rolled into a tight coil was the thickest rug Hermione had ever seen, and no doubt it was heavy. If its weight bothered Draco he didn't let on, he walked with the same ramrod straight confidence as he always did.

The rug fell at her feet, unraveling slightly, a mixture of bright reds and deep blacks, goldthreads sparkling in the firelight. It was easily an inch thick, and looked to be made of soft down cotton rather then course threadwork. She looked up at him confused, noting that the rug wasn't the only thing he carried.

Under his arms were two leather bound volumes, dusty from disuse, their pages almost yellowwith age, but they were well cared for.

"What's all this?" She kicked the rug with the toe of her shoe, it opened a bit more. Draco set to work, laying the books on the sofa. He reached down and gave the rug a hard tug, laying it flat on the space just before the fire.

"This is something we'll both enjoy," Draco sent her the flash of white teeth he called a smileand then busied himself with straightening the rug once more. In truth Draco's smiles were more unnerving then pleasant.

Confused she went to the couch, picking up the books.

They were, strangely enough, Muggle novels, and famous ones at that, not to mention a bit girly for Draco's taste. He rarely indulged in Muggle literature, and when he did she had always figured his tastes for the classics would run morein the direction of Beowulf, or even Hemingway. Not the girly, if not excellent drivel she held in her hands. There was Austen's Pride and Prejudice, and Bronte's Wuthering Heights. If their apparent age was any indication they were original copies, likely gotten from the Hogwarts library.

"You want to read?" She asked. Draco nodded, finally finishing his work with setting the rug torights.

"Something like that."

She watched him walk to the portrait, opening it once more, and the small house-elfwhose name was Corky if she remembered correctly entered, bearing another tray. This time there was no rose, in its place were two glass flutes of deep pink, and a dark green bottle of what could only be wine.

"Draco, we shouldn't-" his look silenced her, and she said nothing more as the tiny creature set the tray on the table, and left, without a word before Hermione could thank her.

"We shouldn't do a lot of things," Draco said. He sat on the couch, bending down to unlace hisboots. "But we do." She couldn't very well argue with that.

"Take off your shoes," he said. Hermione had ceased trying to puzzle this out; he would revealhis plans in time. So she did, removing them easily and setting them by the couch. He had done the same.

"So what were you planning?" Hermione asked. Draco gave her another one of his almostsmiles.

"Well I thought to myself-" he said, and she followed his lead as he sat on the rug. It was like a very thin mattress sherealized, and it felt as soft as it looked. "-what do you enjoy more then anything." He picked up the books, placing them beside him on the rug. "And what do I enjoy more then anything?"

"And what did you figure out?" She asked. She watched him move to the wine, already opened on the tray, and pour it into the two flutes.

"Reading of course," he said as if it should be obvious. "And sex, but we ruled that out already didn't we? So, since we both enjoy reading," he gave her a look, "What better way to spend our time then doing just that?"

"You want us to read?" She accepted the offered wine, taking a small delicate sip.

"No, I want to read to you." She almost dropped her glass. Draco never did anything for anyone, and she was quite sure that if he was being himself at all it would have been the other way around.

br

"You want to what?"

Draco stretched out his long legs, his black socks dangerously close to the flames of the fire.

br

"I'm going to read to you," he repeated. "Come here." Hermione did, if not a bit hesitant, and he pulled her down. Her head rested comfortably in his lap, her body curled on the rug.

"Why?" She whispered. Draco gave her another look, but didn't answer. Instead he picked upthe top book, and glass of wine in one hand, the book in the other he opened it.

"I don't understand," she said. Draco shook his head.

"Shh," it was almost a snap, but not a cold one, "I'm reading." Hermione settled herself, still a bit confused, but warm from the fire and his out of character display. And he began to read, his voice soft and lilting but deep, like music, washing over her in waves.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must bein want of a wife..."

The teachers at Hogwarts were afforded every luxury one would find in your standard cityapartment, without the noise of traffic and the endless bustle of people below; which was why Audrey Anderton rarely left the comforts of the 3 room pseudo-flat. Even now, when the rest of the school was enjoying breakfast below, she preferred to dine in her room.

She walked the rooms like a ghost, the white of her robe trailing behind her as she restlesslymade her way from room to room. In one hand was her ever present cigarette, a habit which increased in frequency with each day that passed, and in the other a small stout glass of the best brandy she could get her hands on. That was a habit she had picked up only recently. While neither was particularly attractive, they were comforting. In fact, the only sources of comfort she had left.

Audrey had lived a life of hardships, and as the years went by her adult life was proving to be no different. It seemed, she had horrible taste in men, both as father figures, and as lovers; which was why she found herself mooning about her rooms, giving into activities usually reserved for drunks and people of means.

She wasn't so absorbed in her musings though that she didn't notice he had come in. She hadknown he would be back today, his letter had said as much. She had squelched the impulse to watch from her balcony for his return, and had instead taken the more destructive route to curb her excitement.

br

Severus said nothing, merely looked at her, a frown of disapproval on his face as he took her in. She wasn't doing well. But in all truth, neither was he. Their reasons for this however were completely different, yet strikingly similar.

His was worry, a worry for life. His own, Audrey's, and more recently Draco Malfoy's. He was aman driven by life, having only recently discovered his.

Hers was worry as well, but not over life, but over death. His death, and while it hurt him to knowhe was the cause of her moods, violent and saddening as they were, he could do nothing to stop it. He was breaking her down, destroying her. But he wasn't going to stop, he couldn't stop.

"Did it work?" she asked. Finally she turned to face him, her face a twist of interest and sarcastic speculation.

"No." He half expected a look that said "I told you so" but it wasn't received, instead she merely nodded, taking a sip of her brandy. He shifted under her gaze, knowing she wanted details, answers, but they weren't his to give.

"Then they're going through with it," it wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact, a horrible fact, but one that couldn't be escaped. He nodded.

"They're going through with it."

"Hmmm," she didn't look interested, and perhaps she wasn't. Draco's fate had nothing to do with her, and in truth it had nothing to do with Severus, but he had tried.

"It's over then," she said. And he again, nodded.

"It's over, there's nothing I can do," his voice was hard, but laced with anguish, both over hisown inability to change anything, and his failure to make Lucius see reason. Audrey set the glass on her table, dropping the cigarette into it.

It took only a few moments and she had crossed the room, her arms wrapping around him. It was small comfort. For even in their affectionate moments they were breaking down, crumbling to pieces.

"You did all you could," she whispered. Severus nodded above her, tensing at her touch. "Imissed you." He didn't respond, but he relaxed, his arms going around her. It was all the answer she needed. For now they were whole, but with each day that passed, they were wasting away because of each other.

Hermione snuggled closer into his lap, her arms wrapped around his waist, lost in sleep. He had stopped reading long ago, the book had been for her benefit only and he found it boring and pointless. So he had put it away, contenting himself with the simple act of running his hands through her hair, across her face, watching her sleep.

He was rather proud of this recent concoction of his. He realized that to possess something completely, for it to be completely his, a measure of maintenance was needed. You had to take care of the things you owned. Hermione wasn't the type of girl who could survive on lust and sex alone. She was craving that tenderness and closeness more and more. So much in fact that she was straying, right into the arms of his loathed enemy.

Now he couldn't have that, could he? So he was being civil. He was being nice. He was pulling out every romantic power play in the book, and she was eating it up. While he should feel triumphant for his maneuver, Draco was left feeling cold and unsatisfied.

He wasn't supposed to, and he hadn't meant to, but there it was. Draco was nothing if notcompletely honest. It was a fault that had gotten him many beatings over the years both by his father his fellow classmates. Some people couldn't take the truth.

Hermione murmured something in her sleep, clutching him closer and Draco rested his arms on her ribs.

She was his possession, and he could not allow her to be more then that. At times he wasn't sure if he wanted to or not. There were things she did that softened his heart, but not by much.

Draco may be a cruel, vicious person at times, but occasionally a little softness could poke through. Especially if it was to his advantage, and could keep him from losing something. And he wasn't going to lose Hermione Granger to anyone, not until he was ready.

Hermione awoke a little bit later, her eyes blinking against the dim light, noting the fact thatDraco hadn't left her side all day, and that it was very dark now. He had kept his promise he had spent the day with her, even if she had been unconscious for the majority of it. Hermione smiled up at him, grinning with pleasure as he brushed a strand of hair away.

"Hullo," she whispered. He gave her a smirk.

"I see you found the book interesting," he mused. Hermione ignored him. "And you'll happilynote you've rendered my legs completely useless." Hermione shot up startled.

"I got dinner," he motioned to the tray in front of them, a simple affair of cheese sandwiches itlooked like, and milk. She smiled, picking up one of the sandwiches, watching him do the same.

It was possibly the most pleasant experience she had ever shared with him, apart from the sex of course. They ate in silence, Draco idly playing with her hair.

"When did I fall asleep?" She asked after awhile. Draco smirked.

"Around the time Mr. Bingley left for London. But I think I heard snores during Colin'sproposal," she blushed, her embarrassment turning to agitation.

"I don't snore." Draco gave a delicate snort, fit for an aristocrat and took a bite of his sandwich, politely refraining from comment. "I DON'T." She reaffirmed and angrily tore a big chunk from the sandwich. Draco snorted again.

"Well, you don't eat either," he wiped away a bit of the cheese spread from her face. Sheblushed again.

"Oh, shut up." She snapped, and set the sandwich down. He laughed, a strange and unnaturalsound, one he didn't make often. But when he did it sent her heart fluttering, for he had the most beautiful laugh she had ever heard, even if the reasons for it were usually cruel.

"Come on," he said.

Seeing that she was done eating he grabbed her hand again, lifting her to her feet. Confusionovertook her features, a commonplace emotion lately.

"Where are we going?" she asked. Draco smirked, tipping her chin up, and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"I'm taking you to bed," he whispered. Hermione drew in her breath and let him kiss her again. It had, she thought to herself, been a delightful day. This was exactly what Draco had hoped to accomplish.

Draco awoke just as he should awake, warm and sated, completely at ease. He was free from the nightmares, from the coldness of the bed, free from worry. Worry that something was slipping from his grasp, that he was losing control.

She was curled, as she usually was against his chest, her leg entwined with his. And he dreaded waking her. So hedidn't, he merely slipped out of her grasp, carefully laying her arm on the bed. He tucked thecomforter around her neck, and gave her the usual proprietary kiss on the forehead.

He had business to attend to before his morning classes, and lying in bed wouldn't get it done.

br

Draco padded across the room, picking up his school robes, preparing to shower, and then write the bi-weekly letter to his father he had been putting off. It was a required part of his life those letters, and to not write one would prompt Lucius' wrath, and perhaps a visit. Both possibilities he didn't feel like dealing with, no matter how tedious and boring writing the letters happened to be.

It still wasn't quite dawn when he emerged from the shower, cold, but refreshed, toweling hishair off. Hermione still wasn't up, and for that he was grateful. Her being asleep would give him the solitude and quite he needed. Otherwise he would become easily distracted, and for good reason, and possibly never finish the damn thing.

Draco made his way into the living room, tossing the towel onto the back of the couch, notingthat the house elves had done their duty and cleaned up the mess from the night before. All that remained of their day of leisure was the two books, set neatly on the end table, and the rug, which was still laid out before the fire. Draco decided he would keep itthere, it was a nice rug, and he doubted the second year dormitory he had stolen it from would mind overmuch, plus it suited the dark hues of the room nicely.

He picked up the books, smirking at the covers. They were, he decided, stupid muggle novels,and completely boring, but they held a certain charm of their own. He was actually a bit interested to see if Elizabeth finally ended up with Mr. Darcy after all. He set the book back on the table and then noticed something else the house elves had placed there, just behind the copy of Wuthering Heights. It was a simple piece of parchment, a neatly folded letter.

Hermione's name was written on the top and her location, just where he could begin to make out the letter's contents. Draco, being the boy he was, had no scruples when it came to reading other people's mail, if they happened to leave it lying within his grasp. So he of course wasted no time picking it up, and opening it.

His eyes roamed over it quickly, taking in the writer's words. He read it again, not believing what he had read.

And then a third time. Finally it all registered.

He clenched the parchment in his fist, and then the letter fell from his hands, falling to the floor, to rest on the rug.

Ron and Harry had hounded her all day, questioning her absence from their sides the day before, wondering if she was as excited about being accepted to the Auror Academy as they were. It was a pleasure she enjoyed, being the center of her friends attention, but now, after enduring it for a whole day, she just wanted to get away.

Which is exactly what she did. She practically ran down the hallway towards the portrait that led totheir common room, certain he would be there. She hadn't seen him at dinner, and a quick check of the Quidditch pitch had told her he wasn't there. She had missed him, as she always did during the long days they were forced into normalcy, but lately it had been more acute then anything.

The portrait swung open, and she bounded inside. She grinned when she saw him, in his usualarmchair, the one decorated in his house colors. When he didn't acknowledge her smile she knew something was wrong.

Draco just looked at her, his face expressionless, and when her smile faded and he knew she realized he wasn't in the mood to play he finally spoke.

"Found your letter," he said shortly. His tone was clipped and short. Hermione drew in a breath.

"What letter?" She asked. Draco gave a snort.

"Stupidity doesn't become you," he snapped. "You know which letter."

Hermione's face becoming a canvas of emotions, first there was fear, then regret, and then finally she settled on anger. Her hand reached out, snatching the letter from the rug where it had fallen earlier. It crumbled further in her tiny fist, and she gave him a glare.

"You read my mail?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"I would have thought that was perfectly obvious," he drawled. Hermione's ire increased.

"I can't believe you invaded my privacy like that," she crumbled the letter further in her hands.

They stared at each other for a moment, Draco not replying, Hermione too angry to speak. Finally one of them took action, Hermione made for her room, too angry too look at him.

It took only a few short, lightening fast strides from Draco to stop her. His hand was on her arm, clutching it painfully in his grip. His eyes bored into her and Hermione reverted back to her original fear. He looked angry enough to kill.

"Were you even going to tell me?" he bit out. Hermione looked a bit helpless then.

"I don't see why you should care," Hermione said finally. "It's not as if it concerns YOU." Draco's stone mask flickered for a moment, hurt overtaking his features, but just as quickly as it had come it was gone.

"You're right," he pushed her away. "I shouldn't."

"Fine." She started to go to her room once more, but he stopped her again, this time with hisvoice.

"I hope," he said, his voice soft. "That you enjoy it."

"Enjoy what?" Hermione's anger was returning.

"Fighting me," he said. Draco backed away, his eyes still on her. "Because that's what you'll bedoing."

"I don't have to fight you," Hermione said softly, her anger fading yet again. She had never met someone who could change her emotions so fast. Draco chuckled, a bitter, dry sound.

"Yes, you will. If you choose to be an Auror you'll have to fight me," Draco's eyes burned intoher, and she felt small as she often did under the intensity of his gaze. Draco's eyes were his best feature, and his most powerful.

"Why?" She said softly.

"Because, unlike you-" Draco had turned away now, but he paused before going into his ownroom."-I don't have a choice."

"You won't give yourself one," Hermione spat. "You're weak, and you let him control you like a puppet." There was no mistaking the "him" in that sentence. "Perhaps I was wrong to put so much faith in a puppet."

Draco closed the door to his room without a word, leaving her alone.

Draco was gone, there was no doubt about that in her mind. His bed was made andundisturbed, his trunk missing from its usual post at the foot. He had packed in a hurry,leaving many things behind, including his precious Nimbus, which was propped against the wall.

Hermione tried to push down the panic, choosing instead to bite her lip. It was already raw and puffy, she had been doing the like intermittently throughout the morning.

Draco was gone, back to his home and no one had any idea of his return. Dumbledore hadassured her with a small smile and twinkling blue eyes that his Head Boy duties were notanything she couldn't handle. Hermione knew that he knew, Dumbledore knew everything,why should this be different. It was a small comfort that he approved.

Snape too was clueless, glaring at her from across the empty classroom as if perhaps Draco'ssudden disappearance was her fault which she supposed it was. But there was something else lurking behind his heated glare, concern, and a bit of defeat and Hermione had refused to bristle at his harsh tone. He cared, just as she cared. Finally they had something in common.

The ache had started now that she was in her room again, away from the business of the day,away from schedules and glasses. It started in the pit of her stomach, tugging at her until itflowed upwards, weighing heavy on her chest until it reached her head. And then the tearsstarted.

They had such little time left, and it was ruined. She had ruined it. Not intentionally, but by not hiding the letter she had broken what they had.

And now he had left, because of her, or because of him, Hermione wasn't sure, Draco hadn'tleft a note and he hadn't said goodbye either, that was his style. So she was left, feeling empty and pained, with no idea what he was doing or why.

Draco's classes would be easy enough to make up of course and if he returned in time for exams there would be no problem studying for those. But it was the time he couldn't fix. The time he was taking from them by leaving.

Hermione felt a tear roll down her cheek, tickling the skin there, cool and wet. It only prompted more. She closed her eyes, fumbling her way across the room she knew so well, to the bed she had slept in so often and pulled back the covers sliding into it.

Hermione breathed in the scent of him, pepper and expensive cologne, it was everywhere, onthe sheets, the pillow casings. He engulfed her and as she closed her eyes, wrapping thecomforter around her she pretended it was him, just for a moment, until she fell asleep.

The trip had been short, and the brief stop even shorter.

Draco had known what he'd wanted. He'd entered the shop with no preamble, he had seen themerchandise before, it rarely changed. The shop wasn't exactly a hub of activity. In fact Dracowas pretty positive that if it wasn't for the occasional wanderer, and the masses of family money the owner had backing him up that the shop wouldn't exist anymore.

But here he was, and his fingers found what he was looking for in less then a minute. He hadwasted no time haggling, no time with idle chit chat. He had paid and left, on his way.

He arrived at the Manor just before noon, and as expected there were no heartfelt greetings at the door, or hugs of hello, just a cold nod from the footman, and the scurrying feet of the house-elves as they welcomed him home.

Draco almost told them not to bother, as their tiny hands struggled to lift the heavy trunk. Hedoubted he'd be staying long anyway. Not if all went as he suspected it would. Draco swallowed as apprehension ran through him, settling cold and hard in his stomach. This wasn't going to be easy. To steel himself for the forthcoming events he reached into his pocket and ran a hand over the object that lay there, cold and smooth in his hands. It fueled him with a bit more courage, but the apprehension remained.

"Where is my father?" He asked. The smallest of the house-elves looked up in fear, those large softball eyes blinking at him. Its lips trembled before it answered.

"Master in his study, sir." The House Elf bowed his head respectfully. Draco nodded, removinghis cloak to hand it to him.

"Take these to my room," the elves nodded and scurried away, three of them attempting to drag the trunk behind them. Draco ran a hand through his hair, and unconsciously smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his school robes before he started on his way.

His father made him nervous, hell his father made everyone nervous. Lucius Malfoy was a man who commanded respect. Not the half-assed, scared completely shitless kind of respect but a real awe, both for his wealth, and the power he exuded.

Draco himself had been struck down by that awe; that hero-worship early in his life. He hadfollowed his father around, and sung his praises for as long as he could remember. And now he wasn't sure what had changed. Lucius was still the same man, cold, unfeeling, and utterly brutal when it came to business. It was Draco that had undergone the transformation from chubby spoiled rich boy whose father could do anything, to a spoiled big rich boy whose father would do anything even if it meant hurting others.

Draco had never witnessed anything that told him his father was a bad man. Lucius had always been cold; buying gifts to make up for the love he could never give his family. Narcissa had her jewels and her furs; she had her socials and her dinner engagements. Narcissa was the envy of every pureblood wife in the country, and she was close to happy, until that looming threat of her husband's allegiance cast a shadow over her happiness. Draco had been given everything, every opportunity to excel. Excellent tutors and trips abroad had filled his summer; he had all the toys a boy could want as a kid. His clothes were the best, the most expensive and for a while this had been enough. It was the typical rich boy seeks love story, and truthfully it made him a little sick. He hated being cliché.

Lucius Malfoy was not the sort of man who would involve his family in his business life. Not atfirst. Narcissa knew what was expected of her, and she followed it to the letter, as long as hecontinued to shower her with the money and gifts a woman of her beauty deserved. And one day, soon, Draco would follow in his footsteps, and take his rightful place by his father's side.

It was expected.

Draco had heard the rumors of course. And shortly after Potter's adventures in fourth and fifth years they had escalated and increased in frequency. When he walked the halls paths cleared to let him by and whispers followed.

"His father's a Death Eater," they'd say. "He's He Who Must Not Be Named's biggestsupporter." It had never bothered him before until the whispers had cast him in the limelight.

"He's going to be one of them." They said, and he was proud to say that more then a few moony eyed females had looked disappointed by this knowledge, some had that glint in their eye that told him the idea made him even more appealing. There was a certain sexy danger to being a Prince of the Dark. But he didn't want it. Draco had read the accusations; they were easily accessible, in the restricted section of the library. They told of the crimes his father had been accused of, crimes he had been pardoned for, not because he was innocent, but because he had the ability to negotiate, because he had the money to sway those with the power to put him away.

Draco thought perhaps it was then he had started to hate his father. Or perhaps it was that day on the train when he found himself wanting a girl Lucius would not let him want. Whatever it was it didn't matter. Lucius was a man to be feared, and a man who didn't take no for an answer. A man who would hold whatever he had to hostage to obtain his own means.

Draco stopped before the door to his father's study. The preferred method of seeking anaudience with his father was to send a servant in advance to announce his presence, and then he would wait until he was called for. But this was not a regular meeting, which was why he had not followed the regular rules.

Draco sucked in a breath, and twisted the silver knob on the door, pushing it open.

Lucius did not look surprised to see him. In fact he looked as if he had been expecting it. Twoglasses of wine were present, one in his hand, the other on the desk. He didn't smile when Draco entered, only nodded in the direction of the scarlet upholstered chair that sat before the desk.

"Hello Father," Draco crossed the room, taking a seat in the chair. He picked up the wine, andforced himself to keep from draining it in one great gulp. It would steel his nerves all right,perhaps make this easier. But it would do nothing for his production of collected calmness, andit would muddle his wits. He needed those more then anything.

"Hello Draco," his father gave him a cursory nod of greeting, regarding him with interested blue eyes.

They were the picture of each other. There was no mistaking their shared genes. Draco's much shorter white blond hair was the exact same shade and fine quality of his father's, his face the same blend of aristocratic planes and handsome angles although much younger and a bit prettier then his father's. They even sat the same way, ramrod straight, their movements graceful and calculated, at ease in any situation. There were differences of course. Draco's eyes were not the light crystalline blue of Lucius. They were instead steely silver, flecked with bits of even lighter gray, almost white, and they were a great deal warmer then the older man's. Draco's own face was prettier, with long almost girlish eyelashes, and full Grecian lips, the compliments of his statuesque mother.

"Care to enlighten me as to what you are doing out of school?" Lucius took a sip of his wine,one silvery blonde eyebrow raised. Draco cleared his throat.

"I have things to discuss with you," the boy said slowly. Lucius nodded, and took another sip of the wine. Draco had barely touched his, save for a proprietary sip. He was instead absentlyswirling it about in the glass, the red liquid sloshing up the sides only to run back down, streaking them crimson.

"Of course you do," Lucius gave his son a smirk. He leaned forward, setting the wine on hisdesk, folding his hands. Draco watched his father's face change from cold curiosity to frankamusement and he felt the dread settle heavy in the pit of his stomach. Lucius already knew. He wasn't sure how that was possible, but there it was.

Draco cleared his throat, the new found knowledge making it easier to spit the words out. If his father already knew, then it wouldn't be so hard to say.

"I'm not going to join you," Draco said. Lucius knew exactly what his son was implying, and hehad seen it coming long ago. Even before Severus's foolhardy mission of mercy, he had known.

"Oh?" Lucius's eyebrow went up even further, wrinkling his forehead. His blue eyes dancedwith laughter and his thin lip twisted into a mocking smirk. "You're not?"

"No." Draco set his own wine glass down, the dread in his stomach turning back to unease. Hedidn't like it when his father was amused. It never boded well. "I'm not."

Lucius leaned even further forward, almost daring the boy to continue.

"And why is that?" Lucius asked. Draco swallowed, and almost flinched at the triumphant smile that overtook his father's face. The man delighted in making him nervous.

"I don't want to become...that," Draco said finally, after a moment's pause. He wasn't reallysure what had changed his mind, and it was nothing he could put into words. Perhaps it was Hermione's statement of his weakness and his obligation to his father at odds with his lessons against weakness.

"I think it's a little late for that," Lucius leaned back, reaching for his wine glass again. "Don'tyou?"

"I won't do it," he said a little more forcefully.

"Yes," Lucius said, his smirk growing more prominent. "You will." He took a sip of his wine.

Draco was truly at a loss for words. There was nothing he could say that would get his father to concede and let him live his life. But Lucius wasn't finished. He truly was weak.

"Do you know why you will?" Lucius asked, raising his eyebrow again. Draco shook his head."Because you have to." Lucius took another sip of his wine. "I suggest, son that you forget about that little whore, and continue on as planned." Lucius said this in such a bland tone, socompletely sure of himself that it was as if he were discussing nothing more trying then theweather. Draco's mouth dropped open, he had known his father knew, but he hadn't expected the man to confirm it.

"She's not really a whore," he said weakly. Draco felt his resolve leaving him, his father knew, now he was sure of it. First there was the shame, it was wrong to feel it, but the teaching of his whole life forced it there, and then there was the anger. "She's not." Lucius waved a hand ignoring him. Draco felt small, like a child, and realized only his father could do this too him.

"That hardly matters now," Lucius said finally, he took another sip. His eyes scanned his son'sshocked face and he shook his head. "You thought I didn't know? That I was somehow blessedly unaware?" Lucius gave a delicate snort. "You should know Draco, more then anyone, that nothing escapes me." His eyes bore into the boy. "Especially when it's my own son. My flesh and blood, cavorting around with some," Lucius spat the next word, his tone full of scorn and disgust, carved from centuries of prejudice and hatred, "-mudblood."

Draco didn't flinch at the name, but it irked him. He hadn't called Hermione that in months, and in truth he didn't think of her in those terms anymore. There was nothing dirty or un-pure about her, if anything she was the most pure individual he had ever know. She was completely without malice or evil.

Lucius still went on, calmly and unrushed, pausing to sip his wine at appropriate, dramaticintervals. He enjoyed watching the emotions play across his son's face. It was a rare treat to get any kind of emotion from a Malfoy, and even rarer to be the cause of it.

"It doesn't bother me in the slightest Draco," Lucius was saying. "We all have our...weaknesses, but it will NOT interfere in my plans for you."

"YOUR plans," Draco reminded him, but his father just ignored him and continued on.

"I don't know what spell of hers you're under that made you even consider coming here andproposing something so ridiculous, but I do know that you'll break it, and soon." Lucius's eyeshardened. "You will attend your ceremony Draco and you will join the fold."

"No, I won't," Draco repeated. Draco stood up, and turned, fully prepared to leave. But Lucius'voice stopped him. Draco didn't turn around, but he didn't try to leave either.

"I've swayed many a man to get what I want Draco, and I've used a very simple formulathroughout my life to do it," Lucius said. "Do you want to know what that formula is?"

Draco didn't response, merely took a step forward.

"Find out what's holding back the man, and eliminate it," Lucius's tone was cold, leaving noroom to question his intentions. "And I will eliminate it Draco if you continue to act in thisfoolish manner. Step two is to find something that man loves, a family member perhaps, and do the same, just to sweeten the deal. Do you understand me?"

Draco swallowed, the faces of Hermione and his mother flashing into his head, them screaming and writhing at the hands of Lucius and he gave his father a jerky nod.

"I'll take care of it," he whispered, relieved that his voice didn't crack mid-sentence.

"See that you do." Lucius turned back to the paper's on his desk. "I suggest you get back toschool son, and take care of this as soon as possible." Draco gave another jerky nod, swallowing reflexively as every hope he had harbored burned and died, the ashes settling in his chest.

"I will Father."

The day's classes flew by for Hermione. She acted completely on autopilot, like a robotwith a clear-cut set of objectives with no pesky feelings to get in the way. She went to her classes, raised her hand, answered her questions, and took her tests. She ate lunch and laughed and rolled her eyes at the antics of her friends, she subtly shrugged off Ron's hand on her arm, still unsure of how to feel about it.

But at night, safe in the confines of their tower, she broke down. No tears fell, she was stronger then that by now. At least she told herself that when her eyes began to burn. It had only been two days, but it felt like forever. This didn't bode well for the future.

She slept in his bed, wallowing in the smell of him, hugging the blankets close. It helped herdream of him. And dream she did. They were the pleasant sort, a little more lustful then she was used to, but she wasn't used to going without his touch. Despite the warmth of the rooms, and the heavy blankets she wrapped around herself like a shield, she still felt cold without him.

She wasn't sure how she was going to survive when the day came for him to be gone for good. She feared it had already come.

Hermione closed her eyes, and hugged his pillow close. She prayed that she had more time just a little more time.

Draco stayed for one night and then dinner on the second, but only at his mother's demand. She had appeared at his room justmoments after his meeting with his father.

Narcissa was a beautiful woman, but as she looked at him he couldn't help but see her ugliness. The look of disdain that was ever present on her face twisted her features, slanting her cold blue eyes and marring the full lips of her mouth. It was the same look he had known his entire life, her nose lifted high enough that he could see up her nostrils, and even that didn't allow him the pleasure of finding fault with her. His mother was perfect, like a walking portrait, her face frozen in time. Even despite her unsavory features he adored his mother, and he shuddered to think of any harm coming to her.

"You will join us for dinner." That was her usual demand, no request, no begging or pleading.Just a simple command he would be sorry to deny. Draco had merely nodded curtly, andcontinued to repack the useless trunk the house-elves had so diligently relieved of its contents.

In record time it seemed.

Which was why Draco had taken longer then he would have thought getting back to Hogwarts, which was why he didn't stumble into his room until close to two in the morning. But he wasgreeted by a very pleasant surprise. Hermione was snuggled in his bed, wrapped in his blankets, her brow furrowed. Her glasses rested on the stand beside his bed, and her hair was wrapped around his pillow.

His hand reached into his pocket, fingering the item there before he knelt down beside her,brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She didn't stir, for his movements were subtle.

His fingers moved down from her temple, brushing the area beside her eye, moving downwardacross her cheek, to her lips. Just as his fingers pulled one of them down she opened her eyes, gasping in fear until she registered him.

"Hello," he murmured. Hermione pulled away, her eyes wide with sleep and shock, taking him in, and remembering why he had left.

"Hello yourself," she said softly. Draco didn't apologize, not out loud. But she took the kiss he gave her next as an apology, even if he hadn't meant it to be.

Sometime later the questions started, and Draco wished for his pocket. It lay discarded on thefloor, far from his fingers, his reassurance lost in the pile of discarded clothes.

"Where did you go?"

Hermione clutched the blankets to her neck, whether from shame, or embarrassment Draco didn't know. But neither scenario pleased him in fact it only made him a bit more nervous, which in turn made him angry.

"Home," was his short reply, his hand reaching down to the floor to scoop up his pants.Hermione eyed him.

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter," Draco looked away, pulling them on.

"I think it does."

Draco wanted to snap at her, too tell her he didn't care what she thought. But he couldn't do that, not yet especially if it would push her away. So he was silent, choosing instead to reach for his shirt.

"You can't just do that to me," she clutched the blankets even closer.

Draco still said nothing, merely raised and eyebrow and stood. He pulled his shirt on. He could feel her glare on him, burning into the back of his head, making his face twist in guilt.

"I can't talk about this now," he said finally.

"Fine," Hermione grabbed up the comforter as she stood, almost tripping as she made her way across the bedclothes. "Let me know when you manage to work it into your schedule."

Draco watched her stalk across the room, the blankets trailing behind her, fair shaking in anger. He almost smiled again. She was adorable when she was angry, and the blanket had fallen open in the back where her hands couldn't clutch it, giving him a tantalizing peek of her backside.

"How's next Tuesday," he drawled at her retreating back.

Hermione wrenched open the door, and it slammed against the wall, snapping back and almost closing again. It was then that Draco reached out to stop her.

He simply grabbed her arm, gently but firmly enough to keep her in place. Thankfully she stopped, keeping him from having to exert more force. But she wasn't looking at him. She merely stared out into the common room, her knuckles white where she clutched the blanket. Draco moved his thumb over the smooth skin of her arm, which was slightly tanned with a sprinkling of freckles from whatever sun she had been in recently. Still she didn't move, she didn't jerk away.

"I just didn't want to tell you now." Hermione glared at him, finally moving, shifting to the side a bit.

"We don't have a lot of laters Draco," Hermione felt her throat hit, choking on a sob. "For a while I thought we didn't have any left."

Draco wasn't the kind of boy who got mushy, he wasn't the touchy feely sort, but he let his arm go around her in comfort, clutching her to his chest. He knew what he had to do, and he knew how much time they had left. Hell, he probably had it timed down to the second. He couldn't push her away now.

So he held her, and tried to savor the first of their laters.


	4. Fighting Words of Wisdom

Lucius Malfoy sat in his office for a long time after Draco's departure. After dinner he had retreated there, to think and to plan. Draco was proving to be a difficult child, more difficult with each passing day and it disappointed Lucius. The boy had shown so much promise as a youth, worshiping the ground his father walked on, despising all those not pure of blood. It had taken one little Mudblood to undo all of Lucius' hard work and training. It would take a lot of effort to get Draco back to where he needed to be. But it was well worth it. Draco had the potential to be something great. He was intelligent and cunning, shrewd and vicious, and his looks commanded respect. He was in fact the most promising of those slated to be taken into the fold during this years blood moon.

Voldemort himself had congratulated Lucius on having such a promising young man, he had hinted at great things for the Malfoy family.

And Hermione Granger was ruining everything. All the hard work and planning Lucius had spent years perfecting was being thrown away over childish, teenage lust. His work would not be interrupted for long. He would give Draco until the eve of graduation to finish with the girl, get that urge to defy his father out of his system. After that he would take whatever means were necessary to eradicate that particular distraction.

Lucius grabbed his quill and a piece of parchment and began to draft a letter. A small, vindictive smirk curled his lips, turning his fair handsome features into something twisted and dark. He would fix this little problem, in the simplest way possible. He would teach his son and that filthy girl a lesson in respect, and pride. And all it took was a simple piece of parchment, and a little note, jotted in less then five minutes.

Lucius left the letter unsigned, and rolled it up, pushing his fingers to his mouth. He let out a shrill whistle, and at once that family owl swooped obediently into the room. Lucius smirk turned into a grin as he tied the letter to the bird's foot. They would learn the lesson. And Lucius would get what he wanted. He could think like a teenager did, and he could resort to teenage tactics to achieve his goal.

All he had to do now was wait.

Breakfast the next morning was a tense affair. Although Draco and Hermione had come to terms with the events of the night before, the tone of their relationship had changed. It had been in the process of changing for weeks now, but it seemed it had finally happened. The lusty looks were still secretly exchanged, the verbal banter still continued, but it was even softer then before. It was almost blatantly obvious that it was nothing more then lover's teasing. Luckily the student body of Hogwarts had taken to ignoring the verbal barbs exchanged my Hermione and her friends, and Draco Malfoy and his minions. Even luckier was the fact that their encounters with each other were brief, and left no time for close scrutiny.

There was one on the stairway heading to the Great Hall, started by a snide comment from Ron about Draco's whereabouts, that almost ended in a scuffle had Hermione and Harry not stepped in. Draco had cast a short look to Hermione, and turned on his heel, heading towards breakfast.

And then there was a rather rude comment shouted out from the Slytherin table as the trio entered the Great Hall. Draco had looked for a moment as if he might break Blaise Zabini's face for such an affront, but decided instead to laugh along with the rest of his comrades. Hermione had simply tilted her head up high, ignoring them and continued on her route to her table.

Thus far there had been no more incidents. The quite hum of chatter among the students, and the scraping of fork against plate were almost comforting to her. Ron was going over his schedule for the day, groaning about having Double Potion and Transfiguration back to back.

"Whoever makes these stupid schedules is a sadist. I mean, you don't see us having Double Care of Magical Creatures now do you," he was saying, inhaling strawberry jam covered biscuits and eggs.

"I think they're afraid if Hagrid has us for two periods someone might be mortally wounded," was Harry's reply. He was eating his own breakfast in a much more civilized manner.

"If we keep having Snape for two periods I might just mortally wound HIM," Ron cast a glare up to their Potions professor.

"It's not so bad," Hermione sighed. Her thoughts however were on Draco, who would be seated across the room, right in her line of vision for the whole period. He had started sitting where he knew she could see her months ago, and had taken to doing very erotic things the whole time in an effort to work her up. "On second thought I'm wrong." Hermione said quickly. She didn't know if she could deal with Draco sucking seductively on the tip of his sugar quill for two whole periods.

"See? When the Head Girl is against Double Potions it has to be a rotten idea," Ron slung his arm over Hermione's shoulder, bringing her closer. "I say we go to Dumbledore and protest."

Hermione smiled, and rolled her eyes at Harry. He grinned back, more in response to Ron's finally taking some initiative then what he was saying.

Ron continued to babble on about student rights, making banners and possibly organizing a march. He kept his arm firmly around Hermione's shoulders and continued eating one handed, a skill he was becoming very adept at.

Hermione's thoughts were not on student rights, or even Ron's arm. They were instead on Draco, as they often were. Who knew what devilish scheme he would work up today? He was making himself too obvious lately, his little tricks to work her up getting more blatant and outlandish. Someone was bound to see.

She prayed for a moment that he would keep to himself today, and cast more attention on Professor Snape then her. She was pretty sure her prayer fell on deaf ears.

"And buttons, we should have buttons." Ron went on. Harry pretended to listen, nodding his head once in awhile. Hermione gave a soft sigh, and picked up her tea.

She should be flattered she supposed, not scared. She would just have to let things run their course. She cast a look over to Draco, and was startled to see his eyes focused on hers. He was glaring, his look cold and calculated. She felt a blush rise up on her cheeks and turned away.

Unfortunately the course was not always a steady one.

Hermione tried to steer her body as far away from Draco as possible, really she did. But somehow she tended to gravitate toward him. The chair that she had sat down in, which had seemed very far away a second before was suddenly only two people over from him.

How could she have made such an error in calculation? Draco always sat in the third row, fourth seat over. And now she was in the third row seventh seat over. From her vantage point she was saved having to stare head on at the boy, but she was cursed with having to look at his profile, which was just as beautiful. Smooth aristocratic features, chiseled in a thin slab of granite, cheek bones any girl would die for; full slightly pale lips, and long silver lashes, but a dangerous quality to his expression that seemed to carry away all the girlishness.

He seemed to be ignoring her for the moment, busying himself instead with arranging his things on the desk in front of him. Sugar quill, check, ink pot check, real quill, check, book, check, she could actually see him making the check marks in his head. Each time he made one his head bobbed up and down slightly and he reached for a new item.

Draco, however, was doing anything but ignore her. He could feel her eyes, running the length of his face, pausing at his hair, moving down his neck, his rather broad shoulders. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, watching his long fingers deftly move his school things. She didn't want him to see her staring, but at the same time she wanted him to acknowledge her existence. He didn't.

After Weasley's little display this morning he was in no mood to humor the girl. She hadn't even tried to move away, had even seemed to enjoy it. And Draco would be damned if he allowed a Weasley to take something of his. Therefore he had two options. The first was of course stealing her away with charm, and good looks, and little whispered sweet nothings. He could make her forget all about the freckled idiot. That way required an awful lot of effort. Effort he had already attempted previously.

Or he could dispose of her, get rid of her while he still captured her attention. This way he could tell himself she hadn't been stolen by Weasley, that he had chucked her before it ever happened. And he could do his father's bidding. This way required an awful lot of sacrifice.

Draco didn't feel like making the decision right away, instead he picked up his sugar quill and followed the rather dull and gloomy form of Professor Snape with his eyes. For right now he would ignore her, and decide later which course of action to choose. He would weigh the possibilities, and the outcomes, and hope for the best.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione squirm with frustration. Never had he spent an entire shared class ignoring her, and he found he rather liked it. He could get the girl all worked up without having to do a thing but sit there and be pretty. And she was worked up. He could tell by the reddish tint to her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and her wiggling bottom on the chair.

He continued to suck on his quill, pretending to hang on Snape's every word. He tried to figure out what she was thinking that could produce such a response. Probably about the things he usually did during class, or perhaps what she would do to him later. Whatever the reason ignoring her was doing a better job then seducing her ever had. He had never seen her so flushed, or so antsy.

And he wasn't the only one who noticed. Ron looked at his friend, who was surprisingly not paying attention to the lesson at all. She was instead, casting looks at the wall on the other side of the room and fidgeting in her chair. Ron followed her gaze, and saw nothing that could lead to her discomfort. The Slytherin side was working diligently, not one paying her any attention. The wall her gaze seemed to be trained on was empty as well, save for the same worn out tapestry and picture of Harold the Herbologist.

"Hermione," Ron leaned closer, hissing at her. She ignored him. "Hermione," he repeated.

She gave him a look, trying not to draw attention to them. She pleaded with him to keep quiet, lest Snape hear them. He seemed to, surprisingly, understand. He picked up his quill, looking for all the world as if he was taking notes, and wrote "What's wrong?" on the outer margin.

Hermione too bent over her notes. "Nothing." She returned.

"Liar," he glared at her over his paper.

"Too much coffee at breakfast I guess," was the reply. "Now pay attention." Ron could hear the reprimand even in the printed words. He gave her a sideways grin and looked at Snape.

"You first," he hissed. Hermione gave him a smile. But it was a strained one. Had she really been that obvious? Obvious enough that Ron, Mr. Oblivious himself, was able to pick up on it?

She sent a glare in Malfoy's direction. He turned for the first time in class, and gave her the most triumphant grin she had ever seen.

Hermione felt her blood boil. Fine, if that's how he wanted to play it.

She reached up, and slowly extracted the Muggle elastic from her hair. She could feel Draco's eyes on her. It was her turn to work him up. Slowly she shook her hair out, letting it cascade down her shoulders. She could actually FEEL him gulp, and his blood rise. But it was not in lust, it was in anger.

Let him be angry, she decided. She was sick of being the one who was controlled all the time. She wanted to have a bit of control herself.

She began to run her fingers through it. Slowly and deliberately she pulled the soft tangles apart and let the light catch the golden hue in her strands. Draco wasn't the only one watched.

Ron too was entranced. Hermione hardly ever wore her hair down, in fact he couldn't remember the last time he had seen it. She had complained that it got in her way, that it was too much effort. Whatever it was, it was beautiful, all shiny and seductive, certainly not the bushy mess of their youth. He was shocked he had never noticed before.

Hermione gave her hair a flip, and then ran her hand backwards through it, letting the slight curls caress her face as they fell forward again. She pretended to take notes. She had Draco's attention all right. He wasn't even hiding his blatant stare. Normally she would be worried, but today she just couldn't seem to care. Let him do the worrying for awhile. She was exhausted of it. She titled her head as if to write, giving one boy a view of her face framed by the exquisite locks, and the other a view of just how exquisite they were.

"MISS Granger," Snape's voice broke through her thoughts, and her plan and she jerked up in surprise. "Would you kindly put that mass of string away and let Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley return to their work? "

Hermione looked startled. The boys in question looked at each other, surprised. She didn't dare look at either of them. She felt her face flush, and slowly put her hair back up in his customary bun. Every eye in the class was on her now, and it made her face burn brighter.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape cast a look at the boy, whose face was twisted in rage, tinted slightly pink. Snape then turned to Ron, whose face was reddest of all, matching his hair and hiding his freckles. "Mr. Weasley, do you think you can pull yourselves together now?"

Neither boy replied but Snape didn't seem to mind, he went back up to the board. Ron and Draco still weren't paying him any attention; they were instead glaring at each other, the possibilities whirling through their heads.

Hermione sat between them, nervousness wracking her stomach, making her fingers itch. This was all she needed, another reason for them to hate each other, more suspicion cast upon them.

The air in Snape's dungeon had never been so thick, and tense.

Neither boy spoke to her for the rest of the day. Draco ignored her existence, instead concentrating on glaring at Ron through every meal, every chance meet in the corridor. Ron however had tried to speak to her and failed, bumbling over simple words in his embarrassment.

Hermione remained silent. She wasn't thinking about Ron's stuttering, or Harry's failed attempts to make light conversation. She was instead thinking about what was going to happen in their common room that night. It would be a fight to end all fights.

She had committed a sin that might just be unforgivable in Draco's eyes. To him her hair was his as well, and was not to be seen by another. It was an intimate part of their relationship that hair, and she, in fit of rage and self-preservation had displayed that secret part for the entire world to see. Not only that, but she had fueled his jealousy over Ron. It was almost more then she could bear.

Dinner that night was tense between the three, Hermione barely touched her food, and instead choose to push it around her plate. Ron seemed to eat everything, in an effort to make his silence seem more natural. And Harry had given up all pretense of normalcy and ate in silence.

So absorbed were they in their problems they didn't notice the onyx eagle owl that had flown into the room, and landed not two feet away from the group. It stood there for a moment aristocratic and important and waited to be noticed. It was Harry who took the lead.

"It's not breakfast," he said stupidly, and looked at the owl. He reached for the letter tied to the bird's leg, but it skittered away towards Ron, and gave him a hearty peck on the hand.

"It's for you Ron," Hermione tilted her head towards the owl. Confused, Ron reached for the letter. The bird didn't move, merely allowed the boy to untie the scroll of parchment, and then flew away, out of sight. Ron look at the scroll, confused.

"Perhaps it's from Percy?" Hermione tried to peer over his shoulder. Ron shook his head.

"Well open it," Harry prodded.

Ron did, with slow fingers, not recognizing the seal in the blood red wax. He leaned back in his chair, to keep the other two from reading it, just in case it happened to be private.

They watched him. His eyes flittered across the page, getting wider and wider with every sentence, a flush creeping up his neck and invading his face.

Ron leapt up so fast his chair clattered to the floor. The letter dropped onto his plate forgotten.

Hermione and Harry had seen this look before. Rage. Pure unadulterated rage. His face was twisted, ugly with it, and his eyes were focused across the room.

He began to walk, with quick, jerking strides across the Great Hall. Hermione stood up and so did Harry, wondering what was going on.

Ron continued on, and stopped at the Slytherin table, just before Draco.

"Can I help-" Draco was cut off as Ron lifted him up by the collar of his shirt. There was a cry from the teacher's table, and the sound of another chair falling over as the administration struggled to stop what looked to be an impending fight. All except Snape of course, he continued to eat, disinterested. He had seen this coming for a long time.

Ron reared back his fist and hit Draco square in the face, blood spurting out, spraying his face.

Draco let out a howl of pain and rage, and then gave the boy a good swift kick. Ron released him.

Draco lunged at the boy, and returned the punch with full force, with the same effect. And then again.

Ron jerked upwards, using his knees to propel the boy off him and over his head. They scrambled at each other. One not knowing the reason for it, but not caring, the other too consumed by the reason to care for the consequences.

They rolled and kicked, and punched and spat. They banged each others heads into stone and wood. All around them the Great Hall screamed, and people clutched at them trying to pull them apart. And then they were frozen and everyone fell silent.

Professor Dumbledore, retracted his wand and surveyed the boys. Both had eyes that were quickly turning black and what appeared to be broken noses, both had bloodied heads and scraped knuckles.

"It is…a draw," the man said, a twinkle in his eye. "To my office," he gave a flick of his wand again and they picked themselves up off the floor. "Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to bring me the letter Mr. Weasley dropped before all this commotion," Dumbledore turned a patient smile on the stricken girl.

Hermione had tears running down her face, her concern for both of her boys overridden by anger and confusion now. She obediently went back to the Gryffindor table to fetch the letter, slightly stained from Ron's plate now.

"You will accompany us," he put a gentle guiding hand on her back and took the letter with the other. "There are things to discuss. Many things indeed."

Dumbledore sat there for a long moment in silence, his lips pursed in what appeared to be almost a smirk. His face was patient and expecting, almost amused really.

The two boys, who just moments before had been fueled by anger, by passion, were now squirming uncomfortably, too nervous to think about the pain. They were too uneasy to think about the blood that coated their faces.

Hermione sat just beyond them, the letter clutched in her hand, unread, food stained, and wrinkled now. She was crying freely, tears leaving shiny rivers down a smooth red face. She wasn't nervous nor angry, just upset.

Two of the boys in her life that she loved more then anything in the world had nearly torn each other to bits. And over what? Over her? Over the situation, over lust, over jealousy? She couldn't be sure, but whatever it was it didn't seem to matter. It only seemed to be her fault.

Her fault for not being able to control herself. Her fault for sleeping and eventually falling in what seemed like love with the enemy. Her fault for not keeping it a better secret.

"So, who wants to start?" Dumbledore's twinkling eyes landed on each in turn. The two boys merely shifted their eyes from his folded hands to the ground, and Hermione just looked on, having nothing really to say.

"No one?" Dumbledore cast an eye around again. "I see it's up to me to volunteer you then."

He let his eyes rest on Draco.

"Mister Malfoy, if you'd be so kind?" Dumbledore gave a soft wave of his hand, urging Draco on.

"Be so kind to what?" Draco's voice, usually so deep and lilting was muddled now, nasally. It still didn't lack its usually snide and angry tone however.

"Explain of course," Dumbledore looked at him as if it was perfectly obvious.

"I can't," Draco leaned back in his chair, insolent now.

As always with authority, it took him a whole two seconds to become high and mighty if he knew that he could get no sympathy. Dumbledore had never shown him sympathy in the past, and he didn't expect it to win him any battles now. For once, he expected the truth to do it for him. Because for the first time he really had been doing nothing wrong.

"I was just sitting there, eating, when he came over and punched me," Draco gave a shrug. "Not really much more to it then that."

"You know, what you did," was Ron's short, terse reply. Hermione was sure she had never heard him speak in such an enraged voice.

"Does he Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore turned his sights to Ron. "In your opinion what did Draco do to warrant such an attack?"

Hermione looked at Ron. She clutched the letter tighter, already knowing the contents.

"He...he-"Ron choked here, and splutter out one final word, "-Hermione."

"Well I understood that perfectly thank you Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore nodded his head. "He Hermione. That is an atrocious act indeed." Dumbledore shook his head. He didn't seem angry however, still amused if anything. Draco snorted. "Miss Granger care to help explain?"

Hermione knew that lying would do no good, not now.

"I-"Hermione paused here and took in a deep breath. "I've been seeing Draco...behind their backs."

"So you hit Mr. Malfoy because she didn't feel the need to make her romance school business Mr. Weasley?"

"No." Ron spat out. "I hit him because he's tricked her, he's done something to her."

"Is this true Hermione?"

"No," Hermione cast her eyes down. "He hasn't tricked me."

"I don't think I understand," Dumbledore shook his head. It was the first time they had ever heard those words uttered by their Headmaster. The first time he had acted as if he was not aware of everything.

"What's to understand?" Draco said snidely. "He's jealous. End of story."

"But I thought Miss Granger was seeing you? She doesn't seem the type to cuckold, if you'll pardon my rather outdated expression," Dumbledore gave a whimsical sigh here. "I'm afraid I don't know your generation's vernacular in such matters, nor do I wish too. I'm sure it's quite vulgar."

"She shouldn't be doing that with...that..that prat," Ron was beet red now, almost matching his hair.

"And that's for you to decide is it Mr. Weasley? Not Miss Granger?" Dumbledore sighed.

"As much as it pains me to take the side of any of my students," Dumbledore paused here, giving a meaningful look at Hermione. "I'm afraid that for once Mr. Weasley you were solely in the wrong in this altercation with Mr. Malfoy."

"But I-"Dumbledore held up a calm hand, cutting Ron off.

"Draco and Hermione have merely pursued a mutual attraction, fairly common among the student body, and if I recall a tradition carried on by each set of the Heads of the school. Your feelings for Draco, or even for Hermione, do not give you license to attack either one of them in anger, or even in hatred. Jealousy is a cunning emotion Mr. Weasley, in that it makes one feel justified in a wrong," Dumbledore held out his hand.

"The letter if you please Miss Granger," Hermione obediently stood up, looking at neither of the boys, and handed the letter over.

"I trust Ron that you will speak not a word of this to anyone, for I feel that Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy do not wish to have their courtship spread around school," Ron opened his mouth again, but was silenced for a second time by the calming hand. "If they had you would not have found out about it in a letter from some third party."

Ron fell silent.

"I'm giving you a weeks worth of detention, to be served with Professor Snape starting tomorrow right after supper," Dumbledore, "I hope, that in the future my boy that you will not let clever feelings overrule your better judgment."

Dumbledore turned his attention to Draco.

"As for you Mr. Malfoy, while you were the victim in this attack, to fight back is almost as much of an error as to provoke. You too will serve detention with Mr. Weasley, and perhaps you can work out the differences that brought this fight about in the first place."

Dumbledore opened a drawer in the large desk and placed the letter inside.

"This matter will be closed the minute you three leave this office, and what has been discussed here will only be divulged when Hermione and Draco wish it to be."

It was here that Dumbledore turned very serious, the twinkle leaving his eyes. His face seemed older then, losing some of its youth and vitality.

"What seems a petty courtship is very serious indeed," he sighed. "Never more then now has such a pairing yielded so much consequence."

Hermione looked at Draco, or rather, the back of his pristine blonde head, the hair going in every which direction. It seemed at odds with his usual perfectly coifed style, and somehow endearing, even in the present circumstances. He had not provoked this attack as she had thought he would. He had merely defended himself.

"It is not in my nature to give relationship advice, my self being unmarried, but I must warn both of you that while the feelings expressed may be real, this will not be easy. You will have many enemies, and for a short time perhaps be enemies, but I trust that in the end it will all turn out the way it should, whichever way that might be," Dumbledore waved his hand again, this time in dismissal.

"Now take yourselves to the hospital ring, Draco, Ron, and get those noses taken care of. The bruises I'm afraid will have to stay. Miss Granger, I believe you have a meeting to attend to in a short while."

With that the three trudged out in uncomfortable silence. A space between all of them.

That night, in the Gryffindor common room Ron was hounded. Both congratulations, pats on the back, and questions awaited him when he returned from the hospital wing, patched, but still worse for the wear.

"That punch," Dean was saying enthusiastically, "You should have seen his face."

The only one not saying anything was Harry, who was oddly quiet throughout the near celebration. He figured that Ron would tell him in due time, and perhaps answer some of the nagging questions that everyone else felt free to ask.

"What brought that on?" was one of them, asked aloud by Lavender, who was half angry at Ron for marring Draco's beautiful face, and half attracted to the raw masculine power he had shown in the Great Hall.

"He sent me a snide comment about my mother in the post," Ron spat out, his face turning red from the force of lying. It wasn't a very good lie, but it would have to do. It was all he had been able to come up with.

Dumbledore's words still rang prominently in his head. He knew the repercussions if Hermione and Draco were to be found out. He had plenty of time to mull over them while awaiting treatment for his nose.

Draco, as the son of a prominent and very vehement Death Eater could put Hermione in danger by being so close to her. If they were found out someone would want satisfaction.

Ron cast a look at Harry, who didn't seem as if he believed Ron in the least. Harry was thankfully silent, and continued to write out an essay he had been working on.

The congratulations continued for another few hours, until exhausted, and sore, Ron finally managed too escape to bed.

Harry was of course waiting for him.

"So what's the real reason?" Harry asked, perched on his bed in his pajamas, looking very young indeed.

"I told you," Ron said uneasily. He had never, in all his years at Hogwarts lied to Harry in truth. "He made a comment about my mum."

Harry's face went from grim curiosity to hurt in record time.

"Oh, that's how it's going to be then?" Harry asked softly.

"Even Malfoy knows, but I can't?"

Ron's looked turned to pleading.

"I'd tell you mate, really I would. But I promised Dumbledore," Ron sat on the edge of Harry's bed. "You know I would if I could, but something really serious could happen if I were to break that promise.",br

Harry smiled grimly and gave a nod, understanding. He too had made a promise to Dumbledore that he had not shared with Ron or Hermione. Eventually the promise had come to light on its own, and he felt that this one would too.

"Alright then," Harry gave his friend a reassuring smile. It was good enough for him, for now.

He walked down the long corridor with a purpose. His steps were measured and sure, his robes flowing out behind him.

He wore his bruised face as a badge of courage. He wore his pride and his sneer with an air of superiority.

He smiled at the worthy, frowned at the less fortunate, and glared at the hated.

It was another day, and everyday was just the same as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned.

The usual gathering of Slytherin's in front of Snape's dungeon were silent and tense. They watched him approach.

Some were confused, some were respectful, others were just curious. They hid their hatred of someone they had viewed as their tormentor in years past with sycophantic driveling.

Draco reached an easy hand into his pocket, and out of the small metal box he kept there popped a small lemon piece of candy into his mouth.

He ignored the looks his comrades gave him, ignored the questions already forming on their lips, and breezed past them into the dungeon classroom.

While most would have considered this cold and cruel, the Slytherin's were used to such treatment from their own, and considered it normal. Questions were answered during drinking binges, at dinner parties, and in the aftermath of passionate trysts. They were not answered in the corridor just before class.

They filed in after him, a few Gryffindor's mixing in with their group as the time drew close.

It not was long before Hermione joined them, meek and destroyed. A friendship lost because of her own selfishness.

She had slept alone last night, waiting up for hours for him to appear. And he didn't.

There were dark circles under her eyes, and her lips were chapped from constant nervous licking.

She was, in short, a mess.

She stopped at the back of the room. On one side was Draco, looking calm and cool, his mouth sucked in as he worked his way through the lemon candies.

On the other was Ron, looking bruised but cheerful as he chatted with Harry about something or other.

No one paid her much attention. All focus was on Ron and Draco. Half the class, the ones that sided with Ron watched him, wondering what the situation was. The other with Draco, for much the same reason.

Her involvement was trivial to them. Merely a concerned friend trying to separate two fighting foes.

Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself. She took a seat directly in the middle, by herself, refusing to take sides.

Draco cast her a quick startled look, Ron refused to look in her direction. Harry just looked confused.

Hermione sighed and took out her things. This was her burden to bear.

Ron was halfway to his last meal before his dreaded first detention with Snape when he felt a hand on his arm.

He whirled, for some reason expecting it to be Malfoy.

"What?" he snapped, and then realized that it wasn't Malfoy at all, but the other culprit of all this misery.

Hermione stood there, eyes already burning with unshed tears, face all apology and remorse. He tried to steel himself but failed.

"I-I- wanted to have a word with you," Hermione said softly. "If you have a minute."

Ron ran a hand through copper colored hair, contemplating. A conversation with Hermione was really one of the last things he had wanted to deal with. That would come later, when all this was over, as it would inevitably end.

"I suppose," his voice was gruff, and colder then he had meant it. He didn't hate her, not really. He was angry sure, and jealous of course, but he didn't hate her, he couldn't.

"I just wanted to apologize," Hermione said, her eyes staring intently at the stone.

She had never before wished for it to open up and swallow her more then she did right then.

"For?" Ron was trying his hardest to look anywhere but at her. He seemed particularly fascinated with a tapestry just beyond her head.

"For not telling you," Hermione said softly. "For basically lying to you all this time. But you have to understand Ron, I never meant to hurt you."

"Well you did," Ron looked at her finally. His eyes were burning into her own. "You knew how I felt about you, I don't see how you couldn't, and you just let me continue to think that maybe, just maybe, I had a bit of a chance."

"But I didn't know!" Hermione was indignant now. Her guilt turning into anger. She hadn't known. She had an inkling sure, but she never had any concrete evidence. "You never told me, now if my big mistake here is not telling you about Draco then your big mistake was not telling me about you."

With that she turned, and swept down the corridor, leaving Ron staring at the tapestry, shaking with confusion, and anger.

"Would it have made a bloody difference?" Ron shouted at her retreating back.

His answer was silence.

"Time is short Lucius," the man said softly, red slit eyes narrowed on his subject. "Is the boy willing?"

"He will be," Lucius gave his master a small meek smile and then a more forceful affirmative nod. "I just need a bit more time, he is...distracted."

"What could be more important then his life's duty-" Lord Voldemort, smile a sick yellow grin of sharp pointed teeth. "-to me?"

"The troubles of a teenage boy," Lucius tried to give a understanding smile. "We were young once too." Lucius severely doubted if even as a young boy his master had dealt with the trivialities of teenage lust.

"There will be no delays in this ceremony Lucius, there cannot be. The Blood Moon approaches and so does his initiation into the fold," Lord Voldemort stood, pacing the dark cave they now shared. "None of the other's have given me so much trouble."

It was bare of almost all furniture, save for the two chairs in the center, separated by a single spindly table. There was a long full length mirror on one of the stone walls. Dark shadows swirled within its depths, eyes of red peeked out, blinked and disappeared again. Under that curled a python, pitch black, its yellow eyes closed, its tongue sneaking out once in a while as it appeared to sleep. Coiled as if to strike despite its relaxed pose.

"That boy is the most effective and important thing we have now Lucius, and I will not lose that."

"I wouldn't let you master," Lucius bowed his head respectively. And he wouldn't. He couldn't.

"Draco will be ready by the Blood Moon, I promise this."


	5. Goodbye

Authors Note: The final scene of this chapter was inspired by Clint Mansell's beautiful score for the Fountain, which I listened to over and over in the writing of it. I highly recommend it to anyone who is a fan of movie scores, it is a beautiful compostion, as is everything he does. The songs I imagined in particular "Together We Will Live Forever", "Death is a Disease" and "Death is the Road to Awe". This chapter has been a long time in coming (3-5 years actually), I started this journey in '02 and last updated sometime either in '03 or '05. A lot has happened since then including a complete revamp so if you reviewed previously I had to delete some chapters to edit it, so I apologize. I encourage you as always to review, it keeps me writing, and I do plan on finishing this, you have been warned, it's going to be a bumpy ride!

Hermione had tried in vain to keep herself awake to wait for his return. She had stretched out on the couch, book in hand, fully prepared to greet him when he returned. He had, after all, done nothing wrong, and did not deserve this. It was the least she could do.

But as the hours passed, her eyes grew heavy, and the book fell from her hand, to lay forgotten in her lap. This was how he found her, sleeping on their common room couch, the firelight dancing across her hair.

In truth the first of the detentions had not been bad. Weasley had said not a word, cast not a glance in his direction, and Snape had them do no more then catalogue the contents of the Potions cupboard. The list, he had informed them, would be what they worked on for the remainder of their detentions.

Draco knelt beside the sleeping girl, a wave of rare tenderness sweeping over him as he brushed the hair from her face, tracing a path down her cheek. She stirred slightly, sighing contentedly in her sleep.

His eyes took in her firm cupids bow mouth, the flush of her lashes against her cheeks, the freckles that dotted her nose and sprinkled her cheeks. His finger's traced a path under her eyes, brushing her lips.

He found himself staring into rich cinnamon brown eyes. She had awoken. She just stared at him, her eyes curious, wondering, and a bit scared. They had not spoken since the incident. She had not directly taken his side, and thus she wondered about his mood.

"Oh…Draco, your face," her hand reached out to touch the bruises from Weasley's punch. And he let her. In truth he was feeling much too tired, much too strained to fight her.

"The letter, was from my father," Draco said finally, reaching up to take her hand. At first Hermione just nodded sleepily, and then the force of his statement hit her. Her stomach wrenched painfully with the knowledge of what that meant.

"He knows?" Hermione was wide awake then, shooting up in her seat. Draco nodded grimly.

"He knows. The owl that delivered it was a family owl, I recognized it immediately," Draco wasn't going to tell her about his visit, and his father's thinly veiled threat.

"Oh Merlin," She turned away from him then, her eyes on the fire. "He'll kill you."

"No, his plans for me are set in stone," Draco moved to join her on the couch. "I think he thought the letter to Weasley would resolve it."

Several beats passed before she spoke again, her eye's still trained on the fire, the flames flickering across her face, dancing in them.

"And….did it?" she choked a little.

"Not yet," Draco grasped her face, rather roughly turning it to face him. "Not unless you want it to."

"Not yet," Hermione echoed his words, and then she crushed his lips with hers.

Her kisses were desperate, passionate, and laced with fear. He could taste it on her tongue, feel it in the clutch of her fingertips on his arms. She was grasping, clutching, feeding off of him. It was a fear of the future, of the present, of what lay in store for them.

He let himself fall back against the couch as she continued her onslaught of ferverent kisses, her fingers deftly pushing his robes aside. It was enough to make him forget the day's events, and as always they were lost in the passion, forgetting everything about the lives they led outside of their sacred place.

It was her night for control, her need pushing it onward. He let her. He gasped, and moaned at her touch, and reveled in the feeling of her hands on him, her lips, her tongue, her mouth. She was saccharine sweet, and deliciously dirty.

He truly enjoyed these rare moments where she took charge. She was liquid smoke across his body, the barest whisper against his flesh. She fair danced across his skin, removing his clothes completely, stripping off her own. Her lips whispered across his face, kissing the dark purple bruises, her fingers following as if to heal them.

Her hair caressed him as deftly as her fingers, and he was lost in her scent. His moans mingled with her own as she moved atop him, his hands clutching her hips, their movements furious and hard. She cried out his name, and he hers as their passion peaked, and she felt against him slick with sweat, sated and weak.

He more felt her whisper against his chest then heard it outright. In his state it took a minute to process.

"If he hurts you I won't ever forgive myself."

His response was to twine his fingers in her hair, stroking downward.

Ronald Weasley was a man of passion. A man prone to fits of irrationality and anger. It was hard to maintain, and once he was past the initial rage he found himself unable to regain its power. Thus he worked almost amicably with Draco over the course of their detentions.

The anger would spark anew when he saw him at the beginning of their shared detention, and then was lost in the tasks at hand. They chopped, crushed, and harvested in silence, and Ron found it harder and harder to be angry as the days went on. Hermione had been correct. There was no way she could have known outright about his intentions, and truth be told with the closeness that Draco and her had been forced to endure it was almost understandable. Hadn't Dumbledore said it was a house tradition?

He chalked it up to temporary insanity on her part, sheer malice on Malfoy's. He didn't trust the boy, nor would he, but in regards to an attraction for Hermione he could certainly understand him. His heart still clenched with jealousy, and his stomach still felt sick with the knowledge, but he would eventually forgive. Her at least.

He would bide his time, and wait for her. He would always wait. Malfoy and Hermione had mere months, and he had a lifetime. Ronald may have been horribly dense about a number of things, but he knew a doomed relationship when he saw one. Being the youngest in a family of troublemakers had given him the ability to see consequence in everything.

She wasn't tainted in his eyes. She never could be. He was disappointed surely, but her purity wasn't something a person as foul as Malfoy could ever touch.

He had spent several nights lying awake thinking on it. It made his blood boil at the thought but it was something you eventually came to accept, if not understand.

He had decided though, that on this, their last night of detention, that something must be said.

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So that was why as the boys gathered themselves to leave he laid a hand on Draco's arm to stop him.

"Malfoy, a word," Ron struggled with each syllable, especially the last. "Please."

Intrigued if nothing else Draco turned around to look at the boy. Ron was taller then him, but extraordinarily Draco still managed to appear as if he were looking down at him.

"What is it?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably.

"I-" he swallowed, refusing to let himself get angry as he spoke, as he watched Draco shift impatiently. "I just wanted to say, that I don't agree with it, and I don't much enjoy it, but I am forced to accept it." He took in a breath, gathering strength, and calming the beast in his belly. "I do want to make sure that you won't hurt her." Ron went on. "I mean obviously she is going to get hurt to some degree and she knows that, she'd be daft if she didn't, but anything else, if you hurt her in any other way, I WILL kill you." It wasn't terribly original, but it was exactly what he meant. Ron was nothing if not direct. He knew without a doubt that he had the capacity to be true to his word. Unlike Hermione and Harry, he didn't have any moral reservation about killing a human being in the name of justice, and protecting those you loved. It was taking a great deal of self-control and common sense to keep from killing the boy now.

Draco regarded him for a moment with cool silver eyes. Ron was quite sure that Draco was going to hit him again. He steeled himself for the punch, and was prepared to retaliate. He was surprised when Draco merely nodded.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Ron having said what he wanted to say was at a loss, his anger dissipating at Draco's cool acceptance of his threat.

Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but Draco had already turned to leave, his robes billowing out behind him.

Ron felt slightly better, not entirely appeased, but better.

The weeks passed with incredibly quickness. The days seemed to drag as they always did while they waited for their time together, yet still she found herself constantly amazed at the rapidly passing days. With studying, and their duties as the Heads, and their time together at night it was no wonder everything seemed to be moving so fast.

N.E.W.T.'s were fast approaching, and their time was mostly spent studying, pouring over 7 years of knowledge, trying to retain it all. That almost pleasant anxiety Hermione felt close to an important exam or assignment was heavy in her stomach. It was coupled by another anxiety as she crossed the days off her calendar, as she watched the end of the year loom closer.

They still didn't talk about what lay in store after, about their plans for the future. Her acceptance into the Auror Academy was pushed away, as were his ties to his much darker path. They were trying gamely to focus on the present.

Still as she wrote essay after essay to this scholarship foundation or that grant she couldn't help but feel a twisting in her stomach. It was a matter of weeks now until the end of term, and the two separate paths they must walk. Hermione dipped her quill in ink and resumed writing an essay that would hopefully secure her an academic scholarship meant especially for Muggle-borns. It was pointless really, she had known what would happen shortly after they began their "affair". Draco had not lied to her, or given her the impression that he had any intention of following her to the light side. She knew he didn't want to join his father in the ranks of the Death Eaters, but he would. It was his familial duty, it was what he was bred to do. Hermione also had an inkling there was much more to it then that. If Draco was worried about familial duty he would never have started anything with her in the first place. Still they had yet to discuss it, and she couldn't help but fear that such a discussion would be the end of them. The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

So she kept her peace, and wrote her essays, and studied for her exams, and lost herself in his arms nightly.

So absorbed was she in her thoughts and in her work she didn't realize he had entered the common room until she felt his hot breath on her neck.

"Hello," she murmured, closing her eyes as his lips brushed her collarbone.

"Busy?" he whispered back.

"Not horribly so," Hermione smiled and turned around, her other hand pulling a paper over the essay, lest he see what it was for. No need to spark any anger tonight, not with so few nights left.

"Excellent," his lips caught hers.

The kiss was achingly sweet, and with her thoughts where they had been a few moments before Hermione drank it in, savouring it, trying to burn it, and all his other touches into her memory.

"What did you have in mind?" She rasped, breaking the kiss.

"Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that," Draco arched an eyebrow, smirking wickedly. His hands traveled to her skirt. "Mostly that."

Hermoine smiled, and braced her hand on his chest, she pushed him backwards toward his room.

"I'm always up for some of that," she closed the door behind them.

Severus Snape would not readily admit to being masochistic, but he found himself once again in a situation that would cause him a great deal of pain, and he had willingly brought himself here.

Time was running short, and he had to know he had done all he could.

Audrey had been furious, slamming her door in his face and not seeing him off on his departure. She realized of course that there was a slim chance he would not return. Lucius was an old friend but the bonds of friendship did not run deep with him, and Snape had betrayed his Master. Lucius could very well decide that he would be the one to exact punishment for Severus's crimes.

Severus took a deep breath, and raised his hand to ring the bell to announce his arrival. It was not long before a timid, twitchy house elf opened the door, leading him into the foyer.

"Master says he in his study and you to join him there," the elf bowed low and scampered away.

Severus knew the way to the study by heart. He was, in truth, nervous, he was no fool and a healthy dose of fear was needed in situations such as these. He had steeled his nerves long ago, for this must be done. He had one last shot.

"Severus!" Lucius greeted him grandly, rising from his seat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Lucius gestured to a seat. "No wait. Let me guess, Draco?" Severus took a seat and Lucius took his own. "Brandy?"

"No thank you," Severus cleared his throat. "You are, I'm sure, aware of my reason for being here."

"Of course," Lucius scoffed. "You are, if nothing else, persistent," Lucius poured himself his own glass of and took healthy sip.

"I am asking you to reconsider inviting Draco into the life we had Lucius," Snape decided to just get it over with, but kept his hand close to his wand. "I am asking you once more to be a father to your son."

Lucius paused in the second sip of his brandy, his once amused silver eyes going cold.

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Severus pressed on, his fingers brushing the tip of his wand as he spoke.

"He is innocent Lucius, and though I know you are set on him joining in your cause we both know regardless of which side you are on it is a bloody one. I fear not for his chosen path, but for his life." Severus Snape was not usually nervous, nor was he usually flustered, but at this point in the game he was desperate. He watched Lucius calmly set the glass on the desk, and then he gripped his wand.

"We have been friends for many years Severus, which is why I allowed you to enter my home and didn't strike you dead on the spot," Lucius stood. "Which is why I am going to let you leave unharmed once again. You saved my life many a time in our day, and in return I am giving you yours. I risked a great deal by allowing you here without alerting the Dark Lord, and I risk more by continuing to do so. Draco WILL join our Master, and he will do so because I demand it, because I promised it, and because it is DUTY and his RIGHT to do so. You have made your plea Severus, now leave and do not return to my doorsteps with your trivial sniveling again." Lucius's voice rose with every word until he was fair screaming.

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Severus Snape stood, not alarmed in the least bit, his hand still on his wand. The fear that he had felt initially left him, replaced instead by anger, he turned to leave the study. His chance had come and gone. He knew it was useless to talk to Draco, Lucius had more hold over the boy then empty promises of protection ever could.

"You make a grave error in pursuing this Lucius, as your ifriend/i-" Severus fair spat the word, "-I attempted to allow you to correct it. I attempted to help you save your family and offered you what protection I had to give, and still you serve him." He opened the door. "It will be the death of you both." And Severus Snape left the Manor to return to Hogwarts, having failed his mission. He felt the heaviness of his heart increase, for the loss of a friendship, and for the loss of, how he had come to view him for many years now, of a sort of son.

Draco pushed his text into his satchel, following it with the odds and ends of a very boring, double Defense Against the Dark Arts. He looked up to see Hermione's retreating back, the tantalizing swish of her skirt and smiled despite himself.

"Mr. Malfoy," the sharp voice of his professor snapped his head away.

"Yes, Professor?" Draco liked the new DADA teacher despite her upbringing. He found her to be funny and frank. A refreshing difference from most of the old bores that taught in the institution.

"A word," she motioned for him to follow him to her office. He watched as the remaining students cast curious eyes on him before shrugging and taking their leave. Confused as well Draco draped the satchel across his shoulders and followed her.

"Shut the door Mr. Malfoy," her voice was colder then he had ever heard it, and instantly his defenses rose. However, he still shut the door as she instructed, and took a seat in the chair she motioned to.

Draco shifted in his seat uncomfortably as cold blue eyes raked across his body, her mouth twisting into a look of disgust. Her normally pretty face was marred by the look, now ugly.

"Have I done something wrong Professor?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Not yet," Audrey reached behind her, pulling a pack of cigarettes from some unknown place in her desk. "Do you mind if I smoke?" She had lit the cigarette before he could reply, obviously not caring for his response.

"I'm curious Draco," she took a drag, conjuring an ashtray with her wand. "Just what is entailed in a Dark Mark ritual?" She raised an eyebrow at him and expelled the smoke.

Draco stood abrubtly, turning towards the door.

"You will SIT," she was almost yelling now. Draco froze, and felt himself being forced back into the chair with a flick of her wand. "And you will listen, Mr. Malfoy," she said his name with a sneer, her voice a hiss, she took another fortifying drag. "For right this moment, at this EXACT second in time someone that I care a great deal about could be sacrificing himself for iyou/i, a petulant, egotistical child with no regard for those who care about him, and even less for those he finds to be beneath him." Draco turned, his eyes cold.

"I don't know what you are talking about i Professori," Draco replied, his tone implying he did not at this moment regard her as such.

"Severus Snape," she flicked her cigarette against the side of the tray, ash falling into its depths, "The fool, is trying to appeal once more for iyour/i life, an appeal that could cost him his own. He has walked into the lion's den for you, and for what?"

Draco felt his heart drop in his chest. He knew the implications of her statement. Snape was a former Death Eater, he had estranged himself from them at the fall of Voldemort, and upon his Lord's return had failed to rejoin the fold. It was common knowledge that his only protection from their vengeance lay in Hogwarts which was why the Potion's master never left the grounds.

"I didn't know," Draco said, it was not an apology, but it was as close to one as he was willing to give this woman, this virtual stranger who was looking at him with such undisguised loathing.

"Of course you didn't," she laughed, a mirthless tinkling laugh laced with venom. "Why would you? So wrapped up are you in your selfish life, tainting those around you, you couldn't possibly have known that there are people who are not selfish, people who would do a great deal to keep you safe." She expelled another puff of smoke. "And truthfully Mr. Malfoy I cannot fathom why. I look at you and I see a spoiled little boy, a little boy who is all too eager to fill Daddy's shoes and join the fold. Oh yes, he is big enough to lower himself by cavorting with someone whose blood is beneath him, but a little dalliance, a taste of the forbidden before he pledges his life away." She snubbed the cigarette out viciously.

"You're wrong," Draco bit out, anger rising in his stomach, tensing his shoulders.

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"Am I?" she smirked then, and still her face was ugly, twisted with anger and grief. "Tell me Mr. Malfoy will you be here for graduation? Will you walk with your fellow students? Will you walk with your Ms. Granger? Or will you be swearing an oath to kill them all? Kill those who had the misfortune of being born to families not as "blessed" as yours, not as "pure". Will you kill her?" Draco did not respond. He had spent 7 years of his life knowing how to address the Professors of this school, but now that one was attacking him he was unsure how to proceed. "Did you know Mr. Malfoy that your father was the one responsible for MY parent's deaths, that he was almost responsible for my own, that he walked free despite the wrongs he did, the sins he committed? I have watched you, waiting, giving you the benefit of the doubt, and now I can see that you have little to distinguish yourself from him, and I am quite sure you will live up to all his expectations." Audrey flicked her wand and Draco flinched, expecting an attack. She had, however, merely opened the door. "Get out, and know this, if Severus does not join us again it is on your head, and no one else's. And it would be in your best interests Mr. Malfoy, if you didn't mention this conversation to anyone, lest your after school plans come to light."

Draco practically ran from the room, his mind spinning, his heart pounding in his chest. He was furious. More than that he was terrified.

It didn't take long after Severus's departure for Lucius to take action. He knew that Snape would not give up his pointless quest to change Draco's mind. The man would approach Draco head on, attempting to sway him from one path to another. He also knew that Draco had already taken steps down the path to be turned on his own. Which was why immediate action must be taken. He had hoped that his initial letter would have done the trick in ending the relationship between his son and the filthy muggle-born witch, but that was simply not the case. Combined with his threats he had been so certain that alerting the Weasley boy would finish the deed. The roots of it were deeper then he had anticipated and it was time to yank them out.

Lucius grabbed his quill and a piece of parchment and started the second letter that would attempt to end his son's misguided courtship. This one, he was sure, would break the tie completely.

He wrote with a sure, quickness, the quill flying across the page in his elegant and exact penmanship. His orders were clear, concise and without question of intent. It was sooner then originally planned to be sure, but one did what one must regardless of timelines.

Lucius finished the letter, and called once more for his faithful owl. He sealed it with his ring, and tied it without preamble to the animal's leg, instructing it on its destination.

When the deed was done Lucius poured himself another glass of brandy, and leaned back in his chair. It would not take long he was certain, and his mind was whirling with things to do before the actual ceremony. They had but weeks to prepare him, and make sure that he was back on track without falter. It would not do if Draco was not prepared for the ceremony, and Lucius was not a man to incur the Dark Lord's wrath. His Master had great plans for his son, and Lucius considered the attention a great honor. None had been as blessed as he to have a child curry such favor with so powerful a man.

Lucius took a thoughtful sip, and he planned. He knew that even after the ceremony that Draco would not have the strong resolve he needed to serve properly. It would take a great and drastic deed to secure the kind of absolute, unwavering sense of purpose that was required of being chosen by the Dark Lord. Lucius had a very good idea of exactly what that deed needed to be. His son had given his body and possibly his heart to their greatest enemy, Lucius would be damned if he would give his life. He nodded and smiled. It was not the smile of a man who had accomplished great work, but the smile of a man who knew his greatest work was yet to come.

Hermione had taken to studying while eating, shoveling half noticed bites of food into her mouth as she turned pages and muttered key words and definitions. The Trio was once again on normal, speaking terms, however strained, and the boys could only shake their heads and smirk at their overly studious best friend.

They too were feeling the strain of the rapidly approaching exams, both in the sheer amount of homework they were assigned, and Hermione's meticulous "Suggested Study Schedules" that she had handed to all students facing an exam. She had insisted they follow the rigid requirements, stating that following the outline she had composed would prepare them completely for all eventualities in testing matter.

No one followed it as rigidly as Hermione herself, who had not been seen awake without textbook or carefully crafted notes for weeks now. She walked down the halls muttering dates and potions ingredients to herself, and had even brought her texts and notes on the final Hogsmeade outing of the year, sipping butterbeer while practicing different transfiguration spells on a bowl of nuts. Her anxiety was spilling over, and even Ron, usually not bothered at all, had been seen with a textbook in hand, his eyes wide and frantic for a moment before he tossed the book aside with a sigh and went to play chess.

Hermione sighed and turned a page, shoveling another forkful of food into her mouth, her eyes darting back and forth across the page. So absorbed was she in her notes she didn't notice the owl swoop into the room through an open window, quite off schedule again. The murmur among the students was quick, most of them recognizing the bird from the very public and very recent display. All eyes flew to Ron, expecting the owl to deliver the note attached to its leg. However, it went straight for Draco, landing squarely in front of the surprised boy.

The quiet, almost frantic hum of speculation had Hermione raising her eyes, following everyone else's to the boy in question. She watched with a sense of heavy dread as he untied the note from the birds leg, and gave it a bit of meat he had been eating before it flew away.

She glared as Pansy Parkinson leaned over, too far into Draco's personal field, attempting to see the contents. Hermione was smugly satisfied when Draco snatched the parchment away, and sneered at the offending girl, who promptly leaned back in her seat with a huff, crossing her arms across her chest.

The hum of the hall died down, and attention was diverted elsewhere as minutes passed with nothing overly dramatic occurring. It seemed a repeat performance was not happening on this evening.

Hermione, however, continued to stare, taking in the expression on Draco's face as his eyes swept the letter's contents. The clutch of his fingers on parchment, and the slow drain of color from his already pale skin. She could almost see him stop, and reread the letter again as if he didn't believe he had read it correctly the first time. She swallowed hard as she watched his shoulder's tense.

She forced herself to pull her eyes away, and instead shoved another forkful of food into her mouth, even though her appetite was gone. Her textbook lay forgotten on the table, but she trained her eyes on it trying to look absorbed as her mind whirled with possibilities. She knew the letter was from Lucius and while no correspondence from Lucius was ever a good thing, she knew that the odd hour of its arrival and Draco's reaction to it was even worse. Hermione felt her stomach churn, and swallowed, trying to keep from being sick. Each conclusion she drew was more horrible then the last, and she felt acid rise in her throat.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco casually rise from his seat, nodding a farewell to his friends before he swept from the hall. She counted slowly in her head, one, two, three, all the way to ten. She closed the book, laying her fork to the side.

"I'm going to the library, do you guy's want to go?" she looked at her friends. Harry and Ron looked sheepish, knowing they should feel guilty.

"Actually we have a practice scheduled tonight, last match of the season coming up and all," Harry looked at the wall beyond her shoulder, refusing to meet her eyes. Relief flooded Hermione, but she kept her face neutral, composing it into something a little sterner, and more fitting for the conversation.

"Nothing is more important then our exam's Harry, and if you don't put some time in…" she let her voice trail off.

'We will," Ron said hastily. "Tomorrow night we are all yours, promise," he held his hand to his heart.

Hermione sighed and nodded.

"I'll see you later then." It took all she had to keep from breaking into a run from the hall. She kept her steps normal and composed until she was past the door, and then she flew up the stairs to their tower.

Draco was just staring into the fire when she arrived. He did not turn around at her entrance, just continued to watch the flames lap at the dark wood. She did not see the letter clutched in his hands, and his face held no expression.

"Draco-" she started but cut her voice off immediately. It was then she saw his trunks. They were packed and waiting expectantly near the door. She shook her head. "No." The voice that left her mouth was not her own. It was a disbelieving broken thing. Still he did not stir. "No." She repeated with more force.

Her school bag fell to the floor with a loud thud, and her hands fell weakly to her sides. It was as she had feared, the worst thing.

Her eyes swept his face, from the fine length of his silver white hair, caressing the high bones of his aristocratic cheeks, the line of his nose, the curve of his lips in profile. His eyes did not stir from the fire, and it danced in their gray depths turning them black as smoke. Her hands were shaking.

"There are still a few weeks left, what about graduation?" she said finally. Draco stirred then, and it was to laugh. To laugh fuller and with more feeling then she had ever seen him laugh. He laughed until he clutched his sides, laughed until she saw the shine of a tear at the corner of one eye. His shoulder's shook and his head was thrown back, his hair falling almost to his back with the force of it.

Hermione stood frozen, hurt and confused at the laughter, and waited for it to cease.

"Did you really think that the Dark Lord cared about graduation?" his laughter subsided to a small chuckle and he turned to her, his eyes suddenly going grim and fierce.

"I just thought…" Hermione trailed off, unsure of how to phrase what she had thought. She had expected they had more time. She had set graduation as the final day in her mind, her eyes flitting to it on her calendar, not now, so many weeks before. She hadn't been expecting it, and she didn't think it was fair. She had expected a deadline and realized now there wasn't one. "When are you leaving?" Hermione said finally.

"At first light," Draco cast his eyes to the window, as if expecting to see the dawn already, even though it was barely twilight. Hermione grasped her fingers in front of her, pulling herself in tightly to keep from screaming. It welled deep within her chest, goosebumps standing out against her flesh with the force of keeping it in.

"My father has preparations to make before-" Draco cut himself off, his eyes darting back to the fire. He was perfectly still, a statue, she couldn't even make out the rise and fall of his chest beneath his robes.

"Before you become a Death Eater," and then she was as close to screaming as she could come, the words leaving her mouth in a snarl, her hands dropping and clenching into fists at her sides. "A murderer. A killer."

He was not a statue any more, he crossed the room in swift sure strides and Hermione closed her eyes and stiffened in response. Her face was a grimace, flinching with fear. She could feel his heat approach her, heightened by the fire, warm on her face.

"Yes," he said it softly, and still her eyes were squeezed shut. She felt something in her break at that simple word. It tore her insides to shreds, a wide gaping hole opening somewhere in her chest. She felt the raw edges as she breathed, shredded and exposed, getting larger and sharper with each passing second, with each breath she drew. The word repeated itself over and over in her head, softly at first and raising in volume, until she could hear him screaming yes in her mind.

She startled as she felt his gentle hands on her cheeks. They splayed across her face, his thumbs brushing the flesh beneath her eyes. Still her eyes remained closed.

His breath whispered across her face, he smelled sweet, like lemons and so utterly Draco. She drank it in, savoring the citrus. She filed it away with his cheekbones, with the color of his eyes, the pitch of his moans, the tilt of his smirk. They stood for several seconds with his hands on her face, her eyes squeezed tight, not moving. She startled again when she felt his lips on her eye lids, softer then she had ever imagined, like butterfly kisses against her lashes. First one eye and then the other, his hands still clutched her face. She felt his lips again at her hair line, he kissed each space, his fingers dug almost painfully into her jaw, but she could not bring herself to care, to open her eyes. Her nails cut into her palms.

"Please-" she whispered. "I can help you." She heard him suck in a gasp of air, and then she opened her eyes. He was so close, his lips centimeters from her face. She could see the flecks of darker grey in his eyes, the ring of blue around the iris, the pink veins that snaked the white, the small scar at the end of one perfectly winged eyebrow. "Let me help you." She pleaded. She saw his eyes darken, the pupil opening up dangerously.

Then he was kissing her, his mouth bruising hers, his tongue forcing itself inside. She kissed him back with equal force, teeth scraping lips. His hands left her face to wrap around her waist and she was yanked against him, crushed against his chest, his pelvis, her legs wrapping around his own instinctively. His arms were iron bands around her waist, around her back, and his fingers clutched desperately at the fabric of her robes. She grabbed his neck hard, dragging him down.

She felt the rip of fabric and felt her robes brush her calves as they pooled to the floor. Her hands were frantic against his shirt. It passed in a blur the shedding of clothes. He kissed her with so much force her jaw hurt, and she struggled to get enough air in through her nose, but she did not pull away.

Then she could feel the rug beneath her back, and his hands on her thighs. She closed her eyes again, squeezing them tight as he kissed her, over and over again with crushing force. She whimpered into his mouth and wrapped her legs around him.

He took her again and again, his own eyes burning into her face. She could not see him for her own were squeezed tightly shut, but she could feel the fire of them. It was powerful and rough, it was painful and sweet, and she marveled in his touch as she had so many times before.

And then she reached the pinnacle, crying out "I can help you" in a whispered scream as she did, not realizing that in the moments his lips left hers she had whispered it over and over again, until he silenced her with another bruising kiss. Then he was collapsed on top of her, sweat beading in the curve of his shoulder blades, the hollow of his lower back.

It was not the first of the nights couplings. Again and again, in every way she could have imagined he teased and taunted, he caressed and kissed. He burned her skin with his fingers, his mouth, he silenced her whispered pleadings and she silenced his own. She forgot about the letter, about the trunk, about the dawn as she cried out over and over her release. He used her over and over, cold and calculated with each time. She let him.

Until the final time. It was different. The other's had been frantic, pawing passion, need and forgetting, pausing only for a few moments to rest, and in the resting he would not look at her. He stared instead at the fire, at the ceiling. He did not touch her inbetween, just lay covered in a thick sheen of sweat, his hair soaked through, as was her own.

Hermione felt the shift in his attentions immediately. He swept her up into his arms and carried her into his room.

Draco lay her on the bed as gentle as a child, and his eyes slowly moved from her head down, she flushed with embarrasment at his close scrutiny. He hovered over her then, kissing her forehead with agonizing slowness, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her breasts, the curve of her stomach, the bones of her hips. Each in turn he kissed delicately, his hands following in his lips across the map of her body.

When he came back to her face she repeated his act in kind, raising her back off the bed to press her lips to the smooth skin of his forehead, to the fluttering lashes of his eyes, the bones of his cheeks, his lips. She let him fall next to her on the bed, and resumed, she kissed the sides of his stomach, the crease of thigh, she kissed his knees, her hands following her route. With each kiss her brain catalogued the feeling "This is Draco's stomach, this is Draco's cheek" on and on the list went until she was sure she had the feel, the taste of him memorized. Her pulled her back down next to him, for a moment brushing the strands of her hair away from her face. Then he was hovering above her, his eyes locked with her own.

She was reminded of the night when she had taught him how to be slow. He did not move, his arms shaking slightly from the exertion and still he did not move. They just looked at each other for an eternity.

Then he was moving, and she was meeting each movement with her own, her hands running down his back, his stomach, his chest, torturously slow and savoring.

He was whispering something she couldn't hear, and she was too caught up to try harder. He continued to move agonizingly slow and Hermione cried out with each movement.

Together they reached the top, and cried out. It was then she realized what Draco had been whispering, for he cried it now, at the top of his release.

"Goodbye."


End file.
